


OUTRAGE

by Dusty Tyree (DustyP), DustyP, Ishmael (DustyP), Starface (DustyP)



Series: THIS IS PART ONE OF A TWO PART STORY, WRITTEN YEARS APART. [1]
Category: THE A TEAM [TV]
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:21:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26051065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustyP/pseuds/Dusty%20Tyree, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustyP/pseuds/DustyP, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustyP/pseuds/Ishmael, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustyP/pseuds/Starface
Summary: Face is undercover in a drug gang, and is recognised.
Relationships: HANNIBAL / FACE
Series: THIS IS PART ONE OF A TWO PART STORY, WRITTEN YEARS APART. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891102
Kudos: 4





	OUTRAGE

O U T R A G E

by  
T. ROUBLES

Hannibal stared down at the figure of his lieutenant - shock and revulsion filling his eyes at the way the beautiful body had been tormented, and he cursed the perpetrators of the outrage with a fluency that would have surprised both B.A. and Murdock, if they`d been in any state to listen. They were too busy trying to ease some of the more noticeable hurts sustained by their friend.   
Face`s eyes were closed, the dark crescent of his lashes accentuating the pallor of his cheeks; blood from a split lip staining his chin and flowing in red streaks down his exposed throat and chest.  
Murdock was covering the bruised and naked body with a blanket, concealing the injuries to his groin and thighs from his colonel`s horrified gaze.  
Sick to his stomach, Hannibal knelt beside Face, stroking the sweaty, bloodstained hair back from his lover's forehead. How could anyone, even a sleaze ball like Maddox treat another human being like this. His throat tightened as he remembered Maddox's sneering remarks over the mini-radio transmitter Face was - had been wearing.  
The gang boss had made no secret of his lust for the captive Peck, and though Hannibal couldn’t blame anyone for wanting Face, he found it sickening that anyone should be treated in such a brutal fashion. Face hadn’t responded to Maddox's overtures and made it quite clear that he didn’t want any form of relationship with him, (even in his disguise of Joey Forbes, the courier from Miami), but that hadn't deterred the gang-leader, only made him more determined to totally possess this extraordinary handsome man and add him to his entourage of young men and women kept in a luxurious beach house for the amusement of himself and a few favored guests.  
Maddox had refused to take the repeated No for an answer, and pursued the elusive fair-haired charmer with all the subtlety of a charging rhino, until he had cornered his quarry, and in his clumsy attempts to seduce him, had discovered that the man from Miami was an imposter. It was the worst piece of luck that one of the coloured contact lenses which Face had used to transform the blue of his own eyes to the dark brown hue of the real Forbes - had come adrift as Maddox trapped him in a tight clinch.  
One disaster followed fast on another: A visiting gang-boss had recognized Peck as a member of the notorious A-Team, and in a frenzy of lust and hatred, Maddox had taken his revenge.   
Not realising that his plans were known, the tiny radio-bug in Peck's belt buckle too well hidden to be found, Maddox hadn't even bothered to wait to see if Peck would answer any of his questions, but had had the younger man stripped, beaten, then bound to his own bed.  
When he'd exhausted his brutal passion, his coarse features still red with rage and frustration at his inability to make his victim beg for mercy, he'd ordered his men to take the prisoner to the beach house and have some fun until he arrived, as he had an important meeting at the warehouse and couldn't waste any more time on the little spy.  
A sadistic foursome had taken full advantage of the helpless and semiconscious man, and when Maddox had arrived at the beach front bungalow, straight from the warehouse, spluttering and cursing with rage at the loss of his drug shipment, Peck had been subjected to yet more physical and mental torment.  
Maddox had stood gloating over the nude body of his captive, telling him that as he was such a tasty piece of goods, he would keep him for a while - his friends wouldn't be able to help him even if they wanted to. He'd failed in his task to get Maddox, so he may as well get used to their company and stay. When they all tired of him, they might even send him back to his friends - if they still wanted him back after this - and he'd laughed harshly before giving the signal for the torment to start again.

The Team had been searching for the isolated beach-house for a full day. When they had eventually discovered its location, although greatly outnumbered, the well-trained combat team, their black-clad shapes merging with the pre-dawn shadows, had taken out the guards with commando stealth; the mobsters although ruthless and tough, hardly slowing their silently ferocious attack.

Blind to the beauty of the sun rising over the rim of the restless ocean, and ignoring the sound of shouting coming from further up the beach where the police rounded up the conscious members of Maddox's house-guests, Smith became aware that Face's eyes were open and watching him.  
He forced a smile to his pale lips. “It's okay, Tem...it's okay. We're all here now. Take it easy, we'll get you to a doctor as soon as we can...just rest easy.”  
Face’s bruised lids closed over the despair in his eyes, he'd hardly heard the whispered words, all he was aware of was the sick look of revulsion in Hannibal's blue eyes and the forced calmness in the choked voice. The coldness in his heart was even more pronounced than the chill of his tormented body as he shivered uncontrollably in the early morning air.  
He was unconscious when they finally managed to get him into the van and B.A. put his foot down in an effort to reach Maggie Sullivan’s surgery on the outskirts of the town. She had moved from Bad Rock to help out in a friend's clinic while he was out of the country - and Hannibal and the others were thankful for it. They had somewhere fairly close to take their injured comrade, and they could trust Maggie. There wasn't the remotest chance of her letting them down, or turning them over to the military.   
How much of her helpfulness was the desire to make some further progress with Hannibal, and how much was friendship, Smith didn't like to think about. The fact that she would help, without questions, was all that mattered to him right now. He'd wanted to go back to that terrible beach-house and tear it and its occupants apart, but their first priority was getting Face the medical help he so obviously needed, and the police squad would be all over the house by now. Anyway, Hannibal would recognize every one of those leering faces watching his love's agony in that room; he would wait for them even if it took years...he had no doubt about that.  
He held Face's hand all through the journey, occasionally bathing the pale features with a damp handkerchief, wiping away the slow trickle of blood that persisted in oozing from the corner of the battered mouth he'd kissed so many times.   
Murdock sat beside him, tucking the blanket around Face, helpless to do anything to ease either man's distress, his own nearly choking him.  
B.A., the scowl on his face hiding his own concern, drove fast, but very carefully through the streets, taking side roads and shortcuts when he could, until, without the usual screeching tyres, the van came to a steady halt beside the side door of the clinic.  
Smith had already warned Maggie over the van phone, to expect them and she was waiting alone, just inside the door, having sent the night-orderly on an errand that would take him some time.  
It was the work of a few minutes to transfer the unresisting form to a gurney and wheel it to the emergency consulting room.   
Maggie's breath hissed through clenched teeth as she gently lifted the blanket, and her eyes flashed to the set faces of the three men before ordering them briskly out of the room to give her space to work in.  
They made no attempt to move, not wanting to leave their friend, until B.A. took Hannibal's arm, turned him around, and collecting Murdock with his other hand, urged them firmly out of the door.

Hannibal stared unseeingly out of the window of the small, but comfortable room where Maggie had indicated they should wait. It was part of her personal living quarters, situated at the other end of the corridor from the clinic's official waiting room. He did't seem to notice the morning snarl-up of traffic as it surged against the islands of pedestrians trying to cross the busy streets on their various errands.   
Without conscious thought, his mind reviewed the events leading up to this terrible day. Was it only five days ago that he and Face had laughed together as they'd sat in Sarge's bar, waiting for Ed Maloney to appear, Murdock and B.A. squabbling with their usual vigor on the other side of the table.  
Maloney had contacted Hannibal the day before, early Monday morning, and asked for the Team`s help in bringing to justice one of the greediest of the drug dealers, a man named Maddox.  
Maloney, who had received a commendation and promotion to Chief Inspector over the arrest of the SWAT murder team that Hannibal and his Team had broken up, had been the recipient of a large slice of luck when another squad arrested a man named Joey Forbes, a courier from the Miami drug suppliers sent to contact Maddox concerning a large drug shipment.   
Forbes, who was not known by Maddox personally, had decided to have a little fun before meeting his contact. He'd got into an argument with a hooker and been knifed in the chest by her pimp. The police had been called and the various parties, including Forbes, were arrested - the wounded man being taken to hospital, where an alert detective named McConnell, had recognized him and contacted Chief Inspector Maloney. Not being entirely sure if any of the drug squad detectives were in Maddox's pay, Maloney decided to play it safe and deal with the matter himself, and quickly contacted the Team to give him some much-needed outside help.  
Maloney's men had been busy in the twenty-four hours since finding out about Forbes. They'd gathered an impressive amount of information about the young man, helped by the papers found in his possession and McConnell's recollection of the man he'd seen in Miami.  
Forbes was a trusted colleague of a Colombian named Caadiz who ran the East Coast syndicate operating out of Miami. Forbes had a sample of merchandise for Maddox and, as far as the police could gather, was supposed to remain until the deal was completed and arrange for the bulk of the money to be paid into a Swiss bank account.  
The Chief Inspector managed, with the help of his Captain and young McConnell, to keep the identity of the wounded man secret; as far as the rest of the police were concerned, it was a fairly commonplace wounding.  
Forbes was still unconscious, the wound being a serious one, and until he was conscious and had to be charged, Maloney intended to make full use of the lucky break which had been handed to him. He knew of various tactics he could use to delay the discovery of Forbes' identity if he did recover consciousness, and he was going to take full advantage of them.   
He told Smith that he could not feel sorry for Forbes, who by all accounts, was a vicious little snake, his sadistic nature belying his fair good looks.  
The A-Team had agreed to help, and Face, being of a similar build and appearance to the young Miami courier, was the obvious choice to go undercover. He'd needed very little in the way of disguise, the color of his eyes being the only hurdle, and that had easily been corrected by the use of tinted contact lenses.   
He'd made contact with Maddox and been told to come to the town house which was surrounded by a high wall, the only entrance being through an electronically controlled gate, manned by two guards, unobtrusively, but heavily armed.

A discreet cough brought Hannibal out of his pensive recollections and he looked up as Murdock paused in his agitated pacing.  
“Maggie's taking a long time,” muttered the pilot, his brown eyes pleading with his leader for reassurance.  
Smith glanced at his watch, fifteen minutes since they had left the surgery. “Not really, Murdock,” he said gently. “She's working on her own, remember...give her a few more minutes, huh?”   
The pilot sighed and threw himself back into his chair, then immediately hunched over studying the carpet.  
Smith knew how he felt, he wanted to run back along the corridor and just be with his lieutenant, the control needed to stand here was making his muscles ache.  
B.A. grunted, whether in agreement or not, Smith couldn't tell. The big man stretched and walked across to the window, staring out at the traffic, his thoughts too, were of the previous few days.  
He remembered the white teeth gleaming in his friend's tanned features as he'd handed Peck the tiny two-way transmitter. ‘I don`t have to eat this one, do I, Big Guy?’ Face had jokingly asked, then ducked, laughing as the bigger man's hand swept down, pretending to cuff him lightly across the side of the head. ‘Just don't sit on it, y'hear?’ B.A. had growled. ‘Ah've spent a lot of time on that.’  
The sergeant remembered the whispered reports coming over the tiny device as Face had reported on the visitors to the house, he, Murdock and Hannibal taking it in turns to listen in at the prearranged times of contact.  
The big man's fists clenched tightly as he recalled the long silence after Face had reported on the location of the 'hand-over' of the drugs and money. They had been undecided whether to risk breaking into the building, but thinking that Face would be going with Maddox to the warehouse, they'd gone there instead, ready to help Maloney and pick up Face.  
The three men had been sitting in the van just out of sight of the warehouse and the unmarked police cars, when other sounds coming over the two-way link had sent them flying back to the town house. The sounds of Peck trying to talk himself out of the dangerous situation - and the look of frozen disbelief on his companions' faces when the contact had been abruptly severed after the sound of a struggle.   
Hampered by traffic and the need to go round the waiting police cars, the Team had arrived at the house too late to prevent some of the gang from leaving with their prisoner.

Baracus was brought back to the present as Murdock sighed heavily, and shifted in his chair. The pilot was trying to be as quiet as he could, not wanting to add to Smith's worries by voicing his own. He could see how tense the colonel was, and over and above his own concern for Face, he could also feel part of Smith's pain.   
It was just like 'Nam, he mused solemnly: what happened to one, happened to all four. He wouldn't soon forget the look in his leader's eyes, the icy blue gaze had grown misty, then bright with anger and distress on seeing the state of his lover's bruised and naked form.

Murdock whimpered silently, it had torn his heart to see how still and quiet Face was, gone was the laughter and sparkle which usually emanated from his friend's beautiful sea-green eyes. Face had been in great pain from the brutal beatings and the small but agonizing burns, yet his eyes had gone straight to Smith's, as though seeking reassurance that all would be well.  
The pilot didn't know what Face had seen in his lover's distressed gaze, but whatever it was had given him no immediate comfort, as he had lapsed into unconsciousness shortly afterwards.  
How had things gone so wrong? Upon hearing that their friend's cover was blown, the Team had swung into immediate action. They had raced back to the house and fought their way inside only to find that Maddox wasn't there and his inner circle of friends had gone, taking their prisoner with them.   
The Team had still been at the house when Maloney had arrived, swearing in frustration: Maddox had given his men the slip and vanished.  
There had followed a long and frantic search for their comrade, but it was only after Maloney had telephoned Hannibal to say that, after the police had raided a number of places, he was fairly certain they had located Maddox - and hopefully Face. They were at a beach-house situated in a secluded cove just a few miles down the coast from Santa Monica.

Murdock remembered the slight tremor in Maloney's voice as he'd told Hannibal that he could only give them an hour to get Face out, then he would have to call in his squad and arrest Maddox. They had found enough evidence back at the town house to justify the drug-dealer's arrest, together with testimony from the disgruntled members of his gang left to fend for themselves when the police arrived.  
The pilot was brought out of his melancholy thoughts by Smith's movement as he walked away from the window, The colonel took out a cigar and clamped it, unlit, between his teeth.  
As Murdock looked up, Hannibal could plainly see the distress in the other man's dark brown eyes. He nodded slowly, acknowledging the depth of feeling they all had for their injured comrade.  
The clock ticked away another fifteen minutes and Hannibal grew restive. “Wonder what's happening?” his voice tailed off as he realised he'd spoken aloud.  
B.A. cleared his throat. “Wish we could've paid those guys back ourselves, Hannibal. Doesn't seem right they should be in a nice clean cell, they belong in the sewers with all the rest of the rats.” His fists clenched, the jewels on his strong fingers catching the light.  
“I know, B.A., but we had to get Face away.” Smith laid an arm around the other man`s brawny shoulders. “Maloney risked quite a lot by giving us the time he did.”  
The sergeant grunted, grudgingly acknowledging the truth of that statement.  
“Wish Maggie would let us know what's happening,” Murdock burst out, getting to his feet, unable to sit still another second.  
The others nodded, each trying their best not to think of what Maggie was doing in the emergency room.  
There was silence while the clock ticked its way around another ten minutes, then, unable to stand the waiting any longer, Hannibal left the room and with his men close behind him, walked quietly along the corridor to the surgery door and pushed it open.  
Maggie was in the process of injecting the contents of a syringe into Face's left arm. Finishing her task, she turned to the door, her face bathed in sweat and nodded briefly.   
“Okay Hannibal, you can come in...all of you.”  
They trooped into the room and stood beside the gurney, looking down at their colleague.   
His face had been cleaned of blood and dirt, but the swellings were more noticeable, and the heavy bruises were beginning to show in spectacular color.  
Doctor Sullivan gestured them to the other side of the room and sat down, stretching the muscles of her aching back''.  
“Okay,” she began. “I know you'll want it straight, without frills. First, he's gonna be okay. The injuries are fairly severe and look dreadful, but there's not going to be any permanent damage that I can see at this stage. I'll do some more tests, of course, and he needs an x-ray, I think one or two of his ribs are broken.”  
She paused to take a breath, and the three men waited silently with a patience she found a little unnerving.  
“That’s the good news...the bad news...” she hesitated, wondering how to tell them. Looking up, she saw three pairs of eyes looking back, all with the same expression, resignation: they were expecting the worst, she thought, and hastened to reassure them as far as she could. “Please, don't look like that,” she pleaded. “He will recover, it will take a little time, but he'll get through this.”  
Hannibal blinked, then cleared his throat. “You were going to tell us?” he paused, one eyebrow lifting.  
Maggie nodded. “Yes.” She braced herself, knowing she was about to add to their already obvious distress.  
“As you'll have realised, he`s been sexually assaulted. I’m afraid he was raped, pretty savagely and more than once by the extent of the damage. There's some internal damage and his groin and pelvic areas are severely bruised.” She shook her head angrily. “The bastards who did this didn't just want sex, they wanted to cause him the maximum amount of pain and humiliation.”  
The Doctor paused again, rubbing the back of her neck, anxious to get all the facts right first. “But the injuries will heal completely and shouldn't leave any permanent scars.” She paused again, then added, “Not physically anyway. Even the cigarette burns won't leave any permanent scarring. The mental stress, however, will be another matter.”  
She registered the flash of pain and anger that swept across the men's features when she mentioned the burns and cleared her throat nervously. Looking directly at Hannibal, she added softly. “I'm very sorry.”  
The silver-haired colonel seemed to look right through her. “So will they be,” he said, his voice as cold as an Arctic wind.  
“You can bet on it,” Murdock said, and the doctor was amazed to see how cold his normally warm brown eyes could become.  
She looked at Baracus, who scowled, slamming one heavy fist into the palm of his other hand. “W'll get the suckers,” he promised darkly.  
The doctor felt a shiver run up her spine, she thought she knew these men, but now realised that there were many different aspects to their character and behaviour. There was a ruthless side that had made them so efficient as soldiers: but also an indication of their total loyalty to each other. She knew that no matter how long they would have to wait until the men walked free, the Team would be there, none of them would forget the debt they owed to the vicious men who had caused them so much misery.  
“We will, B.A. We will,” Hannibal spoke almost absently as he walked back across the room to look down at his sleeping lieutenant. He brushed back the dampened ends of fair hair from Face's brow with a gentle hand, needing to touch his lover, reassure himself that he was back with them, his strong, handsome face giving nothing away.  
After a moment, the others followed, Murdock wincing as he saw again the swollen, bruised features of his best friend, while B.A. scowled even more darkly and clenched his fists, both vowing silent vengeance against their lieutenant's attackers.  
Maggie broke the silence as she said quietly. “I've given him a strong sedative, he should sleep for most of the next twenty-four hours. Hopefully it will also lessen the shock both mentally and physically.” She stood beside Smith. “Don't worry, I'll monitor him all the time...and conduct the necessary tests.”  
Three pairs of eyes swiveled her way as she hesitated, then added. “When you find those animals, bring them here so I can test them too. Just to be on the safe side.”  
After a brief second, they all nodded in understanding. In this day and age, every precaution had to be taken, but it was one more item to add to their list of retribution.  
“They've been arrested, Maggie,” Hannibal said, “but I'll get word to Ed Maloney. He'll keep us informed, and keep his mouth shut,” he added as the doctor's dark brows rose in surprise.  
“Okay.” Maggie acknowledged. She took Face's pulse again as she broached the next item on her mind. “Now, what do you want to do with Face? Have you anywhere to take him? I could let him have the spare room,” she suggested.  
Hannibal shook his silver head, raising one hand to massage the back of his aching neck. “No, too dangerous - for both of you,” he added as the doctor opened her mouth to protest. “I have a secure place in mind, won't take long to arrange.”  
“I'll have to keep an eye on him for a little while,” Maggie said determinedly.  
The colonel gave her a tired smile. “That's okay, Doc, there's room for you too.”  
Maggie gave a satisfied nod. She wanted to make sure that she gave the lieutenant the best possible medical attention to help him recover - for her own sake as well as her patient's. She was sure that Hannibal would never forgive her if anything else happened to Face that she could have prevented.

Seven days later, Face stood beside the window of his room, staring absently out into the late morning sunshine. The house was set halfway up the side of a hill and he had a grand panoramic view of the secluded estate and its beautiful gardens. It belonged to one of the Team's satisfied clients, who had urged them to use it whenever they needed a safe place to rest.   
Face was grateful that h'd been able to stay here, away from familiar surroundings and people who knew him only casually, not wanting any comments on his appearance, which still showed vivid signs of his ordeal.  
The ache in his heart, however, was worse than any of his physical injuries and would never heal, he was quite certain of that.  
He’d lost Hannibal.  
Never again would he be able to seek the safe haven of his lover's strong arms, feel them close protectively around him.  
The memory of the strange look of revulsion and guilt in his commande's blue eyes would stay with him forever.   
It was so unfair; just when his life had settled down into a steady, warm relationship with the person he loved more than anything, or anyone in the world, it had to end like this.  
In an ordinary job of infiltrating the headquarters of a big-time gang-boss - or so Maddox liked to think - he'd had the misfortune to catch the eye of a half-crazy man who'd taken a fancy to his fair good looks and demanded his lust be satisfied in the most basic of ways.  
Face shook his head, trying without success to push away the memory of that heavy body on his, the brutal mouth and teeth, and...and...he moaned softly and determinedly pushed those thoughts away, knowing he would go mad if he dwelt on them for too long.  
He turned his thoughts instead to his physician. Maggie Sullivan was very good in her chosen profession and having been in Vietnam, there wasn;t much she didn't know about injuries of every kind.  
Although he was aware of Maggie's experience and expertise, Face still felt a trifle resentful that his own doctor and friend, Jim Hunter, hadn't been called in after the first emergency. He felt shy and embarrassed around Maggie, and not just because she was a woman. He was very well aware of the torch she carried in the hope that Hannibal would light it for her - and his agile tongue couldn't find anything to say to her that didn't sound idiotic to his ears. So he'd taken refuge in silence whenever he could, merely smiling now and then to show he was listening. He could answer her medical questions - just - but personal queries were left unanswered.  
He knew he was being unfair to her - he liked the lady for goodness sake, but his recent experiences had left him very vulnerable to any kind of stressful situation and he simply tuned himself out. Besides, a lot of Maggie`s conversation tended to center around Hannibal, and he just couldn't cope with hearing that name, not when he knew he'd lost his colonel`s respect and his love.  
Peck knew the doctor was puzzled by his silences, and she did her best to coax him out of his thickening shell, but there was no way on the planet that Face could talk to her about his experiences, or his sense of loss.  
Doctor Sullivan was staying at the house, only leaving to visit the clinic when absolutely necessary. She'd been lucky in finding a competent assistant to help out there, as she couldn't leave Face for very long in the first few days.  
Hannibal had stayed too for the first few days, but as he was still having to tidy up the loose ends from this disastrous case, and didn't want to risk anyone tracing him there, he'd moved, very reluctantly, back to his own place, visiting the secluded house as often as possible.  
Face's physical injuries were healing cleanly, though more slowly than Maggie had anticipated. She knew the lieutenant himself was partly to blame for that, he simply wouldn't, or couldn't, make any extra effort, and it was this listlessness which slowed down the healing process. He would still heal, as long as his mental state didn't get any worse: his virile, youthful body had, up until recent events, been extremely fit.   
She wished, however, he would let the smile on his lips warm the bleak coldness in his eyes; eyes that were still as breath-catching beautiful as before, but now lacked both warmth and hope. He'd been in so much pain, she’d sedated him for the first two days while they moved him from the clinic, and whilst she'd treated the worst of his internal injuries.   
Now he was reluctant to take any medication at all and Maggie was pleased, thinking he was learning to cope, she knew how easy it was for a patient to rely on sedatives; but they`d helped Peck cope with the trauma for a while.  
A knock at the door broke into Face`s retrospective mood; having no doubt it heralded his lunch, he didn't even turn around, merely saying: “Thank you, put it on the table, I'll eat it later.”  
“Okay,” came a familiar voice and Face swung round, a genuinely fond smile lightening his solemn features.  
“Hey Murdock, how you doing?”  
The pilot put the tray he was carrying down on a nearby table and walked across to his friend, reaching out to take both of Face's hands in his own.   
“I'm fine,” he replied, trying not to notice the still bruised ring around each thin wrist caused by the tight cords he himself had cut when they'd found Face bound to that awful bed. “The question is, how's my favourite scammer?”  
Face shrugged lightly. “Okay, I guess. What're you doing here? Nothing to do but loaf around, huh?”  
He laughed and Murdock winced inwardly, there wasn't even the faintest echo of his friend's normal fun-filled laughter, but he managed to nod.   
“You got it in one,” and affected a bored yawn, then drew the smaller man forward to sit at the table. Flourishing a napkin and tucking it under his friend's firm chin, he put on his best waiter persona.  
“Would the gentleman like some wine with his luncheon? I can recommend this vintage.” He held out the bottle of Perrier water he'd brought with him.  
Face tried his best to enter into the game, but the pilot could see the effort it cost him.  
“I’m afraid I'm not very hungry, my good man,” he said, his voice cracking with tension. He didn't want to eat, but Murdock was adamant. He could see how much weight Face had lost even in the last few days and was determined to get him to eat something. Maggie was worried and he'd promised to do his best.  
“Ah, but we have here, ze finest chicken zis side of ze coop. M'sier must try a little...and the salad...” Murdock kissed his fingers. “I tossed it myself,” he declared modestly. “Well, it did miss the bowl, but I cleaned it up nicely...no one would know.”  
Despite his misery, Face was smiling at his friend's antics and started to eat a little just to please the pilot. Although the first mouthful or two almost choked him, he realised that he was enjoying the food for the first time since he'd been here.  
Murdock was good company; he didn't demand anything of Face, just sat opposite, entertaining the invalid with his trivial gossip.  
After eating about half of the small portion, Face shook his head and pushed the plate away. “That's enough,” he declared, “can't manage any more.”  
The pilot sighed sorrowfully, but was pleased nevertheless, it was more than his friend had eaten the last time he'd visited.  
“Now, come on, H.M. tell me all your news. Is that guy still cheating in the V.A. poker game?”  
Murdock nodded and went on to describe some fairly true antics of staff and patients at the V.A. elaborating shamelessly when he saw he had the invalid's interest.  
After a while, he looked curiously at his friend as he realised that not once had Face asked after Hannibal, or B.A.  
“Did you know that B.A. ate another parking ticket?” he asked casually, watching for a reaction.  
Face grinned in delight. “No. Haven't seen the big guy for a coupla days, he's taking some kids on a trip.” He leaned forward. “What happened? Did the traffic cop go red in the face and shout and stamp his foot like the other one did on our way to Barstow?”  
Murdock chuckled reminiscently. “He sure did - and you know what?”  
Face shook his head, eyes gleaming with fond memories.  
“The cop tore the next sheet off - and ate it,” declared Murdock with a dramatic flourish of his hand.  
Face sprawled back in his chair and laughed heartily, even though he had to clutch at his aching ribs; to the pilot, it was the sweetest sound he'd heard in some time, much more like Face's normal laughter.  
He asked the next question with his fingers mentally crossed. “Have you seen Hannibal, lately?”  
Ha! Jackpot! the pilot thought as Face paled, then flushed and the laughter faded from his eyes, leaving them as bleak and despairing as they'd been when Murdock first entered the room.  
Face shook his head, not saying anything. The last time he'd seen Hannibal was two days ago, and he didn't really expect to see him again.   
He had been edgy and very cool towards his lover - his ex-lover - he corrected himself and had known that his commander was on the verge of losing his temper, something Smith very rarely did, when Face had turned onto his side and said he was tired.  
Maggie, on one of her medical visits, had entered the room then and sensing the strained atmosphere, had told them that her patient needed rest and perhaps Hannibal could come back another time.  
Smith had been white-faced with what Face had interpreted as fury and after hesitating a long moment, had stalked out. Maggie had given Face a sedative to calm him, which he'd promptly thrown away as soon as she’d gone, and followed Smith out of the room.  
Face knew he'd been obstinate, but there was no way he could allow Hannibal to see how hurt he was by, what he assumed, was his former lover's guilt-ridden rejection.  
It would've been easier to bear in one way if Smith had neglected him, Face thought: at least then, neither of them would have to pretend that everything was going to be all right.  
The Colonel, however, called round every day, or telephoned if he couldn't make it. Face believed that it was just his commander's normal caring attitude for any of his men, none of their personal intimacy could be allowed to interfere with a Team job, that was an unspoken rule they'd both adhered to. Smith was just concerned for a man injured on a mission; in this way, he was trying to tell Face, that although he was sorry he'd been injured in a working situation and didn't want to hurt his feelings, he wouldn't be able to continue their affair. Not when his lieutenant had been careless enough to get himself ... raped.  
Hannibal couldn't, or wouldn't, touch him physically, not contaminated the way he was with other mens' seed inside him, and the brutal evidence of more men trying to do the same, still showing colorfully all over his body.  
This was Face`s reasoning, based on the unguarded look in Hannibal''s vivid blue eyes when he'd first seen the extent of his lover's injuries and realised what had transpired in that dreadful house. Together with Face`s own sense of bewildered guilt and the remembered snatches of conversation he'd heard when he was only partly conscious, as his captors had talked and laughed as they'd abused him, made sure Face would never, could never, forget that look: it was seared into his brain and engraved on his heart.  
Doctor Sullivan had carried out innumerable tests and assured Face, and the others privately, that he wasn't in any short, or long term danger from the physical side of the assault, there was no risk of any sexually transmitted diseases. The men who'd beaten, tortured and raped him were all healthy, at least physically. The mentality that allowed them to commit such an assault was another matter entirely.  
So when Hannibal hadn't visited him yesterday, or today, Face had thought he'd been successful in driving his lover away. No doubt Hannibal was secretly grateful that he hadn't had to come out with the actual words ending their beautiful, if short-lived, loving relationship.  
Face had been trying to put his commander out of his thoughts, but was finding it impossible, even without the pilot's question.  
He was brought back from his melancholy recollections as he heard Murdock murmur, “Oh, I see.” The pilot paused then added. “He came by the V.A. yesterday in a great hurry. Told me he had to go out of town for a couple of days, but he'd be back tomorrow night.”  
Face merely nodded, seemingly without interest.  
Murdock hesitated, then plunged on. “What's wrong between you two, Face? Is there anything I can do to help?”  
Face raised tormented eyes, but shook his head. “There's nothing to do, Murdock. Hannibal and I ... well ... you know, after what happened,” he shrugged slightly, “guess we won't be seeing so much of each other, outside of Team work, I mean. Can't really blame him ...er... expect anything else.” He turned his head away, but not before the pilot had seen the suspicious dampness in his eyes.  
Murdock still probed gently, desperate to help. “Why not? Maggie told me today that you were doing fine ... no sign of any trouble at all.”  
He reached over and put a hand under his companion's chin and was horrified to find it trembling. “Oh, Face ... Templeton, what's wrong? Please tell me,” he pleaded, coming around the table to put a comforting arm round the shaking shoulders.  
He was shocked when Face shrank away from him and scrambled out of the chair, gasping, “No! Don't! Don't touch me.”  
Murdock cursed himself for a fool. Just because Face hadn't talked about his experiences didn't mean that they weren't still so fresh in his mind that he couldn't bear even a friend's comforting touch.  
“I'm sorry, Face ... really I am. I just didn't think ... will you please forgive me? I won't hurt you, I love you ... I won't touch you ... I'm sorry ...” He realised he was babbling and that Face had ended up by the window, shivering violently, one hand pressed to his lower ribs, which although healing, were still painful.  
The pilot reached for the bell to summon help, but Face's croaked protest: “No. I'm okay. I don't want Maggie to come in right now,” stopped him in his tracks. He went across the room and stood three feet from his shaking friend.  
Face gave him the travesty of a smile. “Sorry, Murdock. Didn't mean to go to pieces ... and I know you won't hurt me - I just reacted. Sorry. Look, give me your hand.” He reached out trembling fingers and grasped Murdock's. “See. I'm okay.”  
The taller man grasped them gently, but shook his head. “No, you're not. Why won't you let us help you, Face? Hannibal is really worried about you, we all are, We all care about you.”  
Face flushed and shook his head. “You can't help me, no-one can. I have to come to terms with this thing myself.” He squeezed Murdock's fingers, then let go. “You can tell Hannibal not to worry, I don't blame him, I understand. He can't help being disg...” he stopped abruptly, then gestured with one nervous hand, “you know what I mean, he can't help his feelings. Who'd `ve thought that something like this could happen...it's just one of those things we didn't expect. Tell him not to worry... he needn't bother to come here again. I'll be fine. Maggie says I can leave in a few days, so I'll be able to go back home.” He gave a mirthless laugh, “unless of course, the military have found my nice new apartment ... have they?”  
Murdock shook his head slowly. “No, I don't think so.”  
He was thinking how helpless they all were when Face decided he didn't need help.  
Sometimes his friend's courage amazed and scared him. He wondered if he could've reached out to take Face's hand if their situations had been reversed: but this wasn't the time to be brave, the kid needed help.   
Maggie had already told him that she was worried and that Face would have to improve a lot more before she would even think of allowing him out of her sight. Now the Faceman was into his scam and Murdock didn't know how to stop it, short of physically shaking the younger man; and the lieutenant looked so fragile, he couldn't even think of doing that.   
So after another fifteen minutes of listening to Face talk about what he was going to do when he left this place, Murdock sadly took his leave.  
He had to speak to Hannibal. He had to find out if what Face believed was true, that they were going to go their separate ways. He couldn't believe it, instinctively knew that there was a breakdown in communication somewhere, but how and why? Hannibal was very worried about their comrade, and the pilot had a sinking feeling that not even the colonel could get through to Face in this particular instance, he had to do something to help repair whatever was wrong, he just didn't know what.  
He spoke to Maggie when he got downstairs and confirmed that she hadn't said that Face could leave in a few days. The doctor shook her dark curls.   
“No way can I release him the state he's in. He won't eat unless someone stands over him. I know he isn't sleeping, even though he pretends he is: he won't even take off his robe without an argument when I want to examine him. He's a very difficult patient,” she sighed.  
“Always has been,” the pilot said absently, then hesitated, before asking: “Have you spoken to Hannibal about this?”  
The doctor shook her head again. “Not in detail. He hasn't been here for a couple of days, but he phoned. I thought I wouldn't worry him any more than necessary, but I think it's time he was told. Maybe he can do something to make Face take an interest again. They're pretty close, after all.”  
Murdock frowned. “I sure hope so,” he said softly, not explaining exactly what he meant.  
Maggie sighed. “I know that Face is very uncomfortable around me. I'm just wondering ... do you know of any other doctor he might respond to? Someone safe, I mean.”  
The pilot nodded. “Yes, he does have a friend, a doctor, who's patched him up a few times. I'd wait to see what Hannibal says before contacting him, though.” He paused. “I'd better go, but I'll be back tomorrow.”  
The doctor nodded. “Okay, see you tomorrow.” She waved to the pilot as he walked down the driveway, then turned to go upstairs and see her patient.

Hannibal arrived back in the city late the following evening and straight away phoned the house to enquire about his lieutenant.  
Maggie's voice as subdued, and Smith's heart took a downward lurch. “What's happened? Is Face worse?”  
The doctor was reassuring on that point. “No, Hannibal, physically he's improving, slower than I'd like, but a definite improvement. It's just ... just,” she sighed. “I'm wondering if a different doctor can get through to him. Murdock says he has a friend who's treated him before.”  
“Yeah, Jim Hunter,” agreed Hannibal. “But he's got a wife and child. I didn't want to involve anyone else at this stage.” He paused, then added. “I'm sorry if it's been too much for you, Maggie. It's just that I know and trust you. Tem trusts this other guy, but I don't know him. You understand?”  
Maggie couldn't help chuckling. “Yeah, I get the picture. Colonel Smith is a very cautious man - sometimes.” There was a pause, then she asked. “Are you coming tomorrow? I think we'd better have a word or two.”  
“Of course, I'm coming,” Smith sounded surprised. “What made you think I wouldn't?”  
Doctor Sullivan hesitated. “Well, it's just that you seemed upset the last time. Face was being very difficult, I know, but he needs you Hannibal, even if he won't admit it.”  
“I'll always be around when Face needs me, Maggie. I thought you understood how things are between us.” His voice was gentle.  
Maggie sighed audibly. “I knew, but didn't want to think about it. I kinda like you, Colonel.”  
Hannibal didn't know what to say, so did the wisest thing and said nothing.  
Maggie sighed again. “Okay, Hannibal, I understand. But you won't mind if I stick around. I'm kinda fond of all of you, and I would like to see Face himself again.”  
“Of course, Maggie. I'm sorry. If things were different...” He paused. No he couldn't even think of things being different. He then went on, “But I would like you to stay, if you think it won't be too much trouble for you.”  
“No trouble at all, Colonel,” Maggie stated briskly, “see you tomorrow.”  
Hannibal replaced the phone with a frown, and sighed, as if he didn't have enough on his conscience.  
He phoned down to the coffee-shop for a pizza to be delivered, and while he waited, took a quick shower.  
The memory of other showers he'd taken, with the warm, wet figure of his beloved Tem pressed close against his skin, occupied his thoughts, and he moaned softly. If he couldn't get Tem to talk to him, he'd never have that particular pleasure again, or any of the other mind-blowing moments when he'd made love to his enticing, exciting lover; the way the supple body bent almost double beneath him as he'd lain between the lean, upraised thighs, the hungry bulk of his sex buried between the rounded cheeks of Tem's delightful ass. Seeing the blaze of excitement and love in the fathomless depths of the blue-green eyes, watching the color slowly change to deep green as he forged deeper inside the tender flesh. His passion matched again and again by the smaller, pliant body he held in welcome bondage.  
The sound of the doorbell broke him out of his reverie, shaking his head he wrapped himself in his robe and went to let the waiter in with his meal.  
He felt so guilty, it was his fault, and no-one's else that Face had been hurt so badly. If only there'd been another way to get Maddox, or more time to check on him, but he changed houses so rapidly and was always surrounded by a dozen armed, cold-eyed gunmen. Sending his lieutenant in to join the gang and spy out the land, had seemed the best way to get the job done, they'd done it successfully many times before without too much trouble. Yet if he'd known of Maddox's sexual preferences, he would never have sent Face, or indeed either of his two younger officers into that house. He would have gone in himself, found some other disguise other than the Forbes character - anything - rather than risk either his lover, or his friend in such a situation.  
He remembered Face's grin and wave as he got out of the van: “Piece of cake, Colonel ... see ya in a couple of days.”  
Hannibal closed his eyes, remembering the look of despair in Tem's eyes when he'd eventually opened them to look up at him. The look had pierced Hannibal's heart. ‘You did this to me,’ he heard the soft, broken voice in his nightmares. ‘Why Hannibal? Why'd you let them do this to me?’ He'd awakened shaking and sweating, still denying the accusation in those icy, black-rimmed eyes. ‘I didn't know, Tem. I swear I didn't know!’  
Somehow he had to get through to Face, try and get him to talk about what had happened, see if his beloved could ever forgive him. Then, even if Tem didn't want Hannibal to touch him ever again, at least he'd be on the road to recovering his mental stability and Hannibal would have that to cling too through the long, lonely nights of his exile from his lover's side.  
Smith spent a restless night. He couldn't forget the picture of his Lieutenant as he'd seen him two days ago standing by the window, wrapped up in robe and pyjamas. The late afternoon sunlight had gleamed on his smooth blond hair, making Hannibal ache to touch it. Then, as the younger man had turned, that same sunshine had picked out the black shadows and bruises on the finely chiseled features and Smith had been afraid to go any nearer, unable to face the accusation he felt sure would be in Tem's expressive eyes.  
He'd changed his mind about what he'd been about to say, stupidly making small talk instead of the words of love and remorse he wanted so desperately to decdlare. Smith wasn't usually so cowardly in saying what he wanted, but his guilt and remorse were eating away at his strength of purpose. When he had tried to tell Face how guilty he felt that he'd been hurt so badly and would do his utmost to help him through this terrible time, Peck had seemed uninterested.  
Hardly seeming to listen, Face had broken into Smith's stumbling apology, saying he understood what the Colonel was trying to say. Thanking him for his concern, he'd then abruptly turned his back and pleaded tiredness, leaving Hannibal in an agony of indecision.  
Angry and hurt by the abrupt dismissal, Hannibal had left the room.   
Once downstairs, however, his anger had cooled, his sense of fair play making him realise that he could hardly blame Tem for feeling resentful, his lover was going through a very difficult and traumatic period. He'd resolved therefore to be patient, give Face a little time to heal, then broach the subject again.  
This decision reaffirmed, Smith fell into an uneasy sleep, broken by nightmarish visions of his lover being tormented by savage and pitiless men while he stood by unable to help.  
He was glad when morning came and he could get on with his plans for the day.   
His first action after a brisk shower and a cup of bitter black coffee was to phone Baracus and put him in the picture. After receiving the big sergeant's best wishes to pass on to Face, Hannibal then phoned the V.A. wanting to check on the pilot and ask him about his visit to the house the day before.  
Murdock sounded very serious and worried as he told Hannibal of what had transpired at the house and asked him to talk to Maggie before going up to see Face. He paused, wondering if he dare ask his next question.  
Smith picked up on the hesitation immediately. “What is it, Murdock?”  
He heard the pilot take a deep breath. “Hannibal, I know this is way out of line, but I have to ask. Have you said or done anything to make Face feel, well, sort of useless, or - or rejected?”  
There was silence at Smith's end of the phone link. “Hannibal, are you there?  
“Yeah, I'm here. Just wondering what the hell you mean?” There was barely contained anger in the older man's tones.  
Murdock grimaced to himself, he'd known this wasn't going to be easy, so he tried to explain what had happened.   
“Yesterday, Face gave me the impression that you and he had decided to part company.” He waited, but there was no comment from his leader. “He said he couldn't expect anything else, didn't blame you, and that he understood your feelings on the matter.”  
The pilot held his breath, waiting for the explosion, but it didn't come. Instead he heard the Colonel sigh. “I was afraid of that. He ist going to forgive me for letting him walk into that house without knowing what he was getting into.” Smith`s voice was soft as though he was thinking aloud.  
After a lengthy pause, he added, “No, Murdock, I haven't decided to part company with Face, but maybe he has decided for me.” The senior officers voice was low and dispirited.  
Murdock was bewildered. “Wait a minute Hannibal, I'm getting confused here.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “I may be wrong, but I got the impression that Face thought you wanted to part company with him.”  
He waited a second then added. “Quit blaming yourself for what happened, Hannibal. None of us knew what Maddox was like. He and his men are to blame for what they did to Face. Not you - and not Face.”  
Hannibal rubbed his brow. “Yes, I know that's the real truth Murdock, but when I think of what the kid went through, I can't be very rational about it.”   
He paused and his voice sounded very cold. “It's just as well we got Maddox and those other four guys locked up, because the way I feel right now, I could kill them all given the chance again.”  
Murdock was silent, faintly shocked because he knew what that admission must have cost his Colonel. Smith, Peck, Baracus and himself had thought they'd left the killing fields behind them in 'Nam, and hoped they'd never have to shed blood again, but these evil, savage men had brought the wartime horrors back into their lives once more.  
He nodded to himself and confessed quietly. “Colonel, me and B.A., we feel the same way.”  
“I know,” said Smith softly. After a short pause he added briskly. “Well, thanks for the information Murdock. I`m going out to the house now, see if I can't get to the bottom of this little mystery.” He paused again then added firmly. “ I can tell you this much. It won't be me that dumps Face. I could never, ever, do that.”  
He put the receiver down abruptly, leaving his pilot staring at the buzzing phone in his hand.  
Murdock was astonished. Smith had never shown his feelings so plainly before. Sure, both Murdock and B.A. knew their comrades were in love with each other, but they never put it on public show, even with them, their closet friends.  
“Good luck, Hannibal,” he said softly as he replaced his receiver.

Maggie Sullivan replaced the phone, smiling a little, having assured Hannibal that it was all clear to come to the house. Then she frowned thoughtfully, as she went to the staircase, wondering in what mood she'd find Face today.  
Her patient was on his feet, leaning against the window frame, in a position he seemed to favor quite a lot since they'd arrived. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his dark blue robe and he didn't bother to turn his head when she entered the room after having knocked quietly on the door.  
“Good morning, Face. How`re you feeling this bright morning?” she asked cheerfully.  
There was a slight lift of one shoulder. “I'm okay,” he said briefly.  
“Well, lets just check on that, shall we?” Maggie said briskly, mentally crossing her fingers that there wouldn't be another argument.  
The tall, lean figure tensed for long moments, then Face turned away from the window to walk to the bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress. He didn't look at her, his long, fair fringe hiding his downcast eyes.  
The doctor gave an inward sigh of relief, then set about her practiced routine, checking his pulse and blood pressure before moving on to inspect his eyes and skull. She was glad to see that the worst of the bruised swelling had reduced considerably and the pupils of his eyes showed a more normal size.  
Putting her stethoscope to her ears, she gestured for him to open his robe and pajama jacket, which he did, slowly and with great reluctance.  
After a few minutes, Maggie nodded in satisfaction and put the instrument away. “That sounds better. How are the ribs?” she asked reaching out to unfasten the belt of his robe.  
Face drew back and pulled the garment tightly around himself. “Fine, they're just fine, Doctor.”  
Maggie looked at him but he had his eyes lowered and she had to put a firm hand under his chin and force him to met her gaze.  
“Look Face...” she began, but he dragged his chin away.  
“Don't call me that, it's got me into enough trouble already,” he snapped.  
Maggie blinked but recovered swiftly. “Okay. Tem. Mr. Peck. Lieutenant. I need to check on your ribs.” She paused. “Or would you rather come into the clinic and have a proper examination?”  
She smiled, wishing that she could do just that. Those cool, blue-green eyes however, looked straight through her as the young man replied. “No thanks, Doc.” He shifted awkwardly on the mattress then added. “Look, I feel fine now. Can’t you just go back to your practice? I'm sure there are lots of people who are really sick who need your attention.”  
Doctor Sullivan kept her temper. She'd dealt with victims of serious assault before and knew she couldn't lose the battle with this one. For a start, she liked the stubborn young cuss; and, Hannibal would never forget that she'd given up on his favourite lieutenant.  
“I'm sure there are,” she said peaceably, “but I happen to think that you need my care for a little while longer.” She paused, then said briskly, “Come on, Templeton, it won't be for much longer. You know it's safer for everyone for me to treat you here rather than at the clinic. Accept the situation for now, you'll soon be all healed up and then no-one can touch you without your permission.”  
She realised what she'd said a moment too late and waited for the explosion. You utter idiot, Sullivan, she raged inwardly. What a stupid thing to say when those bastards did touch him without permission.  
Peck glared at her, a blaze of anger darkening his eyes to a stormy green. Then seeing the look of contrite horror on the doctor's attractive face, he suddenly threw back his head and laughed harshly. “Okay Doc, you win - for now.”  
He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, making no move to help her in any way.  
Ashamed of her victory, Maggie nevertheless lost no time in opening his silk pyjamas and took the opportunity of giving him a thorough checkup. She was pleased to see some slight improvement, but frowned at the bruises which were still colorful and obviously painful.  
Apart from a faint moan and hiss of indrawn breath, he didn't protest or make any other sound when she gently examined his groin and genitals and asked him to turn over so she could check on his lower back and anus injuries.  
Finishing as quickly as she dared, Maggie pulled the robe back over his half-naked body and turned away from the bed, pulling off the thin rubber gloves she'd donned for the delicate examination.  
“You're doing fine,” she said quietly, re-packing her instruments. “Do you still have any pain in your groin, or anus?”  
There was no reply and she turned to see her patient sitting up on the edge of the bed, his features pale and set, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. He was hugging the robe to his chest and trembling violently.  
The doctor hurried towards him. “Tem, my dear, what's the matter?”  
He managed to hold up one shaking hand. “Nothing, nothing, just leave me alone. For God's sake, leave me alone.”  
Maggie halted beside the bed and tried to take his hand, but he shrank back, eyes blazing. “Doctor, please, leave me alone. Don't... don't touch me. I don't want you to touch me. I don't want anyone to touch me,” he yelled suddenly.  
He flung himself over the other side of the bed and escaped into the bathroom, stumbling over his trailing pajama trousers, and locked the door with a loud snap.  
Doctor Sullivan was aghast, the young lieutenant had never reacted this violently before, although it was only the third time he'd been fully conscious when she'd examined him so thoroughly.  
She hesitated, then making up her mind left the room and went downstairs. Her patient needed something to calm him down, or he'd undo all the progress he'd made in the last week, which was little enough as it was.  
She was preparing a sedative when Hannibal's car pulled up outside and he hurried in, “Hello Maggie,” he smiled a greeting.  
When he saw her flushed face and agitated manner, however, the smile left his lips. “What's the matter?” he asked anxiously.  
Too upset to even think of trying to find another way around the truth, she took a deep breath to calm herself and related what had just occurred.  
Smith's face paled, his blue eyes losing some of their brilliance. “How long has he been like this?” he asked, steadying his voice with an effort.  
The dark-haired woman shrugged. “He's always been reluctant to let me touch him, but this time,” she shook her head, “I don't know what triggered the outburst.” She paused, then added. “I guess the shock, the numbness is wearing off. He's beginning to remember - in detail - just what did happen.” She grimaced. “I don't envy him his thoughts at all. It'll be awful for him, Hannibal.”  
Smith could only nod silently in agreement. If only he could help his lover, but how? He became aware that Maggie was speaking again.  
“You know I usually have a nurse, or an orderly when I examine patients, male or female, but I can't, not here”, she looked up at the tall Colonel pleadingly. “You do understand that, don't you Hannibal?”  
“Of course, Maggie,” Hannibal replied, putting a comforting arm around her shoulders. “He wouldn't have liked anybody else present anyway,” he added.  
He pulled a couple of chairs to the table and sat her down facing him. “Now, tell me exactly what has been happening while I've been away. Everything, no matter how important or not, it might seem.”  
Smith's first instinct had been to rush up the stairs to comfort his Lieutenant. Before doing that however, he needed to know more about the circumstances of this latest outburst if he was to be of any help.  
About thirty minutes later he walked quietly up the stairs and knocked on Face's door. There was no sound so he carefully pushed it open and went inside. The room was empty, but the bathroom door was closed.  
Hannibal walked across and tapped gently. “Tem, come on out. I have to talk to you.” Still no sound, so he tapped louder. “Come on Tem, don't sulk in there, we have to talk.”  
Another few minutes went by without a reaction from behind the closed panels, and Hannibal sighed.  
“Lieutenant,” he snapped in his commander's voice. “Get your butt outta there. Now!”  
For one paralyzing second he thought it wasn't going to work, then the door swung open and his stubborn second-in-command stood there, with a very haughty expression on his bruised face.  
“I'm not in the Army any more, Colonel,” he sneered, “so we have nothing to talk about.”  
Hannibal's heart swung dizzily at the sight of his love. Tem's face was pale, but the eyes blazing at his commander were the shade of storm-tossed oceans; his shining hair was ruffled as though he'd been running his hands through it in the nervous gesture Smith knew only too well.  
The royal blue robe was tightly fastened around his slender body, the silken material of pale-blue pyjamas showing beneath its hem.  
His feet were bare and with his tousled hair and truculent expression, he looked like a small boy determined to defy an adult.  
“We have everything to talk about, come and sit down,” Hannibal suggested mildly and turned away to sit at the table.  
After a long moment, Peck moved to the wide window seat and sat down. Hannibal was grateful for that small concession, but noticed with an inward pang of regret that his Lieutenant had chosen to sit as far away from the table - and his visitor - as possible.  
“Okay,” said Hannibal, “now what's been going on here? I understand you won't eat, can't sleep, and won't allow your doctor to treat your injuries.”  
Peck gave a graceful shrug, his face paling slightly as the movement hurt his ribs.  
“I'm not hungry, not tired, and I'm sick of being poked, prodded and gawped at.” His voice was brisk but Hannibal could hear the underlying tremor of weakness and his heart ached in sympathy.  
“Well, I can understand...” he began, but was interrupted as Tem gasped and spluttered furiously:  
“Oh, you can, can you? Well understand this Colonel. I can do without your pity and I don't want your help. All I want is to get out of this house and go home. If I need medical help I'll call Jim Hunter...” He paused, pressing a hand to his side, then went on, pushing himself ruthlessly. “If you and Maggie need an excuse to meet up, then you'll have to find another way.” He held up a hand as Hannibal tried to speak. “Don't bother to deny it, it's patently obvious you find it distasteful to be in the same room with me.”  
He choked and levered himself to his feet, his face creased in an agony that wasn't wholly physical.  
“You don't have to say anything, I know I'm useless to you personally and for the Team... or ...anyone,” he went on, the hurt and bitterness flooding out. “I heard those friends of Maddox talking when they finished with me, even they knew I wouldn't be any use to anyone any more.” He laughed harshly. “They even sounded disappointed.”  
Face coughed, becoming more and more agitated and it was obvious to the Colonel that he'd been brooding for far too long alone.  
Smith got to his feet, appalled by the reaction to his words, which he'd meant to be comforting, and afraid that his younger companion was becoming hysterical.  
“Tem, honey, don't upset yourself, please. Come on, sit down, catch your breath,” he moved forward, one hand outstretched to help. “I only meant I understood you not wanting to be touched. Please, Tem, don't distress yourself any more.”  
Face shook his head wordlessly, fighting for breath as the red-hot agony in his side flooded his whole body. He stumbled back, away from Hannibal's helping hand only to collapse with a moan of pain onto the window seat.  
He still tried to push Hannibal away, but lacked the strength, as the Colonel carefully lifted him into his arms and carried him to the bed.   
Depositing his burden gently, he reached for the bell to summon help, then hesitated as he saw the desperate appeal in his comrade's eyes.  
“Okay, okay,” he soothed, “just rest a minute or two, get your breath back. I'll get you some water.”  
He went into the bathroom and soon returned with a glass of water. Raising the blond head, he helped Tem sip the cool liquid, then lowered him flat again.   
After a few minutes, Peck's breathing started to ease and he opened his eyes to find Hannibal looking down at him so tenderly, Face wanted to weep for what he'd lost. He blinked hard and looked away.  
Smith reached out and brushed the pain-dampened hair back from his junior officer’s broad brow. There was a fierce longing in his touch, but he was afraid to do more than stroke his lover’s hair in case he frightened him into another spasm of pain.  
“There now,” he said gently, “just rest a while, then maybe we can talk.”  
Face shook his head. “No.”  
“We have to talk, Tem,” Smith insisted firmly. “I can't let you just slip away from me. You know you need help, why won't you let me help you.” He paused, but there was no response from the slight figure on the bed and Hannibal's heart dropped another notch. “If you won't let me, or Murdock, or B.A. help, you'll have to have professional counseling,” he went on.  
Face shuddered. “No,” he said again, knowing how helpless he'd be if his Team mates insisted on that course of action.  
“I don't want that, any more than you do,” said Hannibal quietly, fingers still stroking the blond hair, “and if it'll make you feel better...” he hesitated then made his own sacrifice, “I won't bother you again,” he cleared his throat, “but you have to talk to someone Tem. You can't let this thing fester, it will destroy you.”  
“It's already destroyed me,” said Face bleakly, risking a glance at his companion. “It's taken away my freedom of choice, the ability to decide my own future, even my self respect,” he paused then added in a low voice, “...the only thing I cared about,” he bit his lip and turned away.  
Thinking Tem meant his self respect, Hannibal was even more distressed. “The only thing? I thought you - you used to say,” he cleared his throat again, “you cared for me.” His voice was very low. He didn't have to wonder any longer, he'd heard it straight from his lover's own lips. Tem hadn't even thought about what this terrible event might mean to their relationship, just how it affected himself. 'I can't blame him', he thought sadly, 'those bastards hurt him a lot more than the physical damage, bad as it is.'  
Puzzled by Smith's tone, Face turned and looked up at him. “I did,” he said flatly, then added nervously, “but there doesn't seem much point to that now, does there? Not after what's happened?”  
Hannibal was silent, too upset to hear the faint question in Peck`s tone. “I understand, kid, don't worry about it. We'll talk later if you like.” He straightened up. “You'd better get some rest now.”  
Face turned painfully onto his side and closed his eyes, traitorous tears gathering beneath his bruised lids. His last faint hope was gone. Hannibal didn't really want to talk about their future together, despite what he'd said, or he would've responded in quite another way.  
Smith patted his shoulder gently and pulled the old-fashioned quilt over him before going quietly out of the door.  
Neither of them understanding, both so intent on maintaining their defenses, they hadn't heard the questions each had asked the other.  
Hannibal went downstairs to see Maggie, tired and dispirited.   
The doctor took one look at his face and reached for the coffee pot, then changing her mind, went for the whisky bottle in the cabinet.  
“Here, have a drink, you look as though you need it.”  
Smith sank down at the table and took the offered glass, swallowing the neat spirit without even tasting it.  
After a few minutes of staring into the bottom of the glass, he sighed. “I think we’re going to have to get some professional help for him, Maggie. He just doesn't want to respond to anyone, not anyone he knows.”  
“There`s more to it than that, isn't there?” Maggie asked shrewdly.  
Smith shrugged listlessly. “I guess I was hoping that if we could talk about what happened, he'd let me help, maybe even let me look after him.” He glanced up, meeting the woman's sympathetic brown eyes. “I know he certainly won't want a...a physical relationship for a long time - if ever.” He paused then said vehemently. “That doesn't matter. I love him Maggie. I want to be near him, look after him.”   
The doctor nodded, even as she sighed inwardly. That put paid to her own optimistic hopes for building a closer relationship with the handsome Colonel. Although she knew how he felt about his younger colleague, she'd still harbored hopes, knowing that Smith - and Peck - could still have relationships with women, emotional as well as physical, no matter what their preferences were at the present time. Hearing the quiet conviction in that low voice, however, she bravely put her own feelings on hold and determined to help Hannibal all she could. For the young scam artiste's sake too - he needed Hannibal, she was convinced of that. She would have to try and make Smith understand the difficulties first of all, not to dissuade him, she knew she couldn't do that - didn't even want to try.   
"Don't get me wrong Hannibal, but have you the time to spare? He'll need a great deal of it, emotionally and physically. You're not in the most stable of situations with the military looking for you and trying to make a living at the same time, clients, studio, that sort of thing." She sighed in exasperation as Smith straightened in his chair and gave her a very cool look. "I'm not putting this very well.” She paused. “What I mean is, that it will be worse for him if you start out to help, then have to abandon the therapy before he's ready to do that.”  
Hannibal relaxed a fraction, he could see her point. "I know Maggie, but Face means literally the whole world to me. I won't leave him if there's even the tiniest hint that he wants to stay with me. Whatever happens, I'll manage to stay with him."  
Yeah, thought Maggie, or die trying!  
"Well I hope this last trip settled most of your travelling problems for the time being, you can't cart him around with you for a while, not until he's healed." She paused, then asked curiously, "By the way, where were you these last couple of days, or is it too hush-hush?"  
Smith's face changed expression, became remote and his eyes stared down into the empty glass. Maggie thought he wasn't going to answer and wished she'd kept her mouth shut. Then very quietly he said, "I was obtaining a video."  
The doctor's mouth fell open, “Er...what?”  
“A video. I got a call from Ed Maloney, he wanted to see me very privately.” Smith paused, his mouth twisting. “I understand why, he could lose his job, shouldn't even be telling you, but...”  
He gestured with one hand, and the doctor felt at once both proud and faintly irritated. Anxious not to break the thread of the man''s thoughts, however, she kept quiet.   
“Anyway,” Smith went on. “I met him out of town and he told me what he'd found at the beach house.” He swallowed and wordlessly, held out his glass. Silently the doctor got up and filled it, then sat down again.   
Smith took a large drink and continued, his voice low but very clear in the warm stillness of the room.   
“Apparently one of Maddox's little pleasures was watching himself and his partners perform... it turned him on. He used to like to look in on his other guests too. Ed said most of the rooms were rigged for sound and vision.”   
He paused, his features still cold and distant. "Anyway, to cut a sordid story short, the camera had been on automatic while Face was...” He shivered then looked up. "It's all on camera, Maggie, every move, every abuse, every blow and torment, every rotten word..."   
He choked and let his head droop. For the past twenty-four hours he'd been trying not to think about what he'd seen on that video.   
Maggie's eyes were full of sympathetic horror. She got up hurriedly and moved around the table and put her arms around his shoulders, clasping his head to her breast, she stroked the short silver hair soothingly.   
"We'll find a way, Hannibal, we'll find a way around this." There was a pause while she rocked him comfortingly, dropping a kiss onto the soft silver strands. "Have you told the others?"  
Smith shook his head, he hadn't dared think about that yet. "Only Ed knows as yet, and he won't say anything. He sneaked that video out of police custody as soon as he realised what it was.” A faint grin lightened his tired features. "He'll swear blind he never even saw the damn thing." The grin faded. "He's a good friend, he knew what it would mean if anyone else saw what... what... happened to Face.”  
Needing a moment's respite from his chaotic thoughts, he put one arm around her waist and hugged her in return, grateful for her understanding.

Upstairs, the more that Face thought over the conversation he'd had with Hannibal, the more convinced he was that he'd missed something. Now that he'd let out some of the resentment and bitterness, his mind was working again on a more rational level. Remembering the tone of his Colonel's voice and the endearment 'baby' which had slipped out, maybe he'd been wrong to think that Hannibal was only being kind to him. He could've been wrong. Maybe Hannibal really did come so often to see him, and not just out of a sense of duty, or as an excuse to meet up with the attractive doctor? Now he came to think of it, he’d been the one who'd shied away from mentioning his experiences. He shuddered involuntarily and forged past that thought. Hannibal had seemed to want to talk to him.  
Sitting up in the bed he brushed his hair back; if only he wasn't so damn tired. He hadn't been getting much sleep, because with sleep came the nightmares: the sound of the men's harsh and heavy breathing, the lewd, graphic words on their own performances and as they'd urged each other on to more brutal, obscene acts of torture on his helpless body; the coarse, supposedly complimentary comments on his physical assets and good looks.  
Then the weight of their bodies on his, the greedy, spiteful hands tugging at him, stroking and hitting him - pawing at him; and the smell of the cigar and cigarette smoke and the burning sensations. Worst of all, the agonizing pain of hard, uncaring entry into his helpless body, the rapacious invasion of his soft unwilling flesh. Face whimpered soundlessly, curling into a tighter ball, trying to struggle past the horrible memories. Oh how he'd fought them.  
He remembered now, he had fought - against them all. Especially when they'd decided to untie his legs and one wrist in order to have more space, to let more than one at him at a time; he'd got in some satisfying kicks and punches, even though he'd paid heavily in return blows to his unprotected head and tender flesh.   
No, he wouldn't think of that, he mustn't think of that. Concentrate Faceman, concentrate on Hannibal's words; maybe there was still a chance; maybe Hannibal could still want to share his life - the apartment - stay friends. Anything beyond that, he couldn't contemplate just now, but merely being close to his strong Colonel, knowing he didn't despise him for what had happened, would help. Maybe then he wouldn't feel so soiled and used, could maybe even learn to talk about his ordeal - in time.  
Making up his mind, Face sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood upright. Finding his slippers, he put them on and fastened the robe more securely around himself, then taking as deep a breath as possible, he walked across the room and opened the door. He hadn't heard Smith drive away, so maybe he was in the kitchen having a cup of coffee.  
Moving very slowly, favoring his injured ribs, he made his way downstairs, his slippered feet making no sound on the thick carpeting. As he rounded the curve at the bottom, he realised that he hadn't been out of his room for several days, maybe it was about time he saw some different scenery.  
What he did see, however, through the half-open kitchen door, sent the faint color draining from his cheeks. The dark-haired doctor was standing with her arms around Hannibal, his silver head lying contentedly against her breasts, one of Smith's arms around the woman's waist, as she murmured something about finding a way.  
Face's heart was numb with shock; his hopes dashed for the second time in almost as many minutes. He'd been right all along, his lover and the doctor were attracted to each other, it was just consideration for his injuries that prevented them from telling him of their need for one another.  
He watched in dazed silence as Maggie kissed the top of Smith's head, the gesture so loving and tender that it broke the numbness around Face's heart and the resulting pain made him reel dizzily. He had to get away, they mustn't see him - not like this. The front door was just a few feet away, that was the quickest way out. He made for the exit, not seeing very clearly through the mist of tears which clouded his vision.

In the kitchen, Hannibal raised his head alertly, he thought he'd heard a sound from the hallway, but it wasn't repeated. Nevertheless, being on the alert was one reason that had kept the Team out of the military's clutches for over a decade, so he pushed Maggie gently away from him and went to investigate. The hall was empty and the front door closed. Frowning, Smith looked up the staircase, there was no-one there either. He was just going up to check on Face, when he heard a car engine; moving outside, he saw B.A.`s van coming up the long drive, with Murdock waving from the passenger seat,  
As the van came to a halt, the pilot got out. "Hi there, Colonel, look who I've brought along.”  
B.A. gave a snort, coming round the vehicle to shake hands with his Colonel. “This fool was thumbing a lift on the highway, thought I better bring him straight here."  
"Glad you could come, B.A." Smith paused. "Did either of you see anybody around the front door, or on the drive, when you came up?"  
Both men shook their heads, looking warily around. "You think maybe Briggs or whoever's in charge now, has found this place?" asked Murdock.  
Smith shrugged, "I don't know, I just thought I heard someone in the hall..." his voice tailed off as Murdock instinctively looked up at Face's window.  
"Maybe Face went out, have you been to check?" the pilot asked.  
His leader shook his head. "Was just going to when I heard the van.”  
“Why would he go out without telling you?" B.A. asked in bewilderment.  
Smith and Maggie exchanged glances then Murdock broke in. “Er, B.A., we've got a problem with Face, he's, well he's not really trying very hard to get better.” He looked across at the doctor. “Right, Doc?”  
Maggie nodded but didn't say anything.  
Hannibal turned abruptly and made for the doorway, running swiftly upstairs, with the others following him. He didn't bother to knock, his instinct telling him that Face wasn't there. He was right.  
The quilt he'd placed over his Lieutenant was lying on the floor, but nothing else was disturbed. He went over to the closet, the others watching from the doorway, and was relieved to find that Face's clothes were hanging neatly in their usual place, the shoes on the floor, they hadn't been touched since their owner had been brought to the house.  
"Well, wherever he is, he's still in his robe and pyjamas," Smith said, his absent tone concealing his concern.  
"Maybe he just felt like a walk," suggested Murdock, hopefully.  
"Yeah. The kid's been shut up in here for a week now," decided B.A. "He's just gone for a walk in the grounds, I'll go look for him."  
“We'll all go look for him,” Smith said briskly. “That way we'll find him quicker.”  
Maggie nodded. “It would be best,” she agreed, “although it's quite warm for us, he'll feel cold pretty soon with just his pyjamas and robe. They're not very thick and he has been in a controlled atmosphere for a while.”  
She was already speaking to three backs as the Team raced down the stairs, varying degrees of anxiety in all of them.

Meanwhile, Face had just wandered away from the house, missing being seen by the occupants of the van by a matter of seconds, as he'd turned the corner of the house.   
The grounds were spacious, with groves of trees and shrubs, interspersed with smooth lawns and flower beds, but he didn't even see the beauty of the scene around him, he was cold and hurt and lonely. He didn't really know what to do now; without him realizing or acknowledging it, he'd been waiting for Hannibal to come up with the solution to his problems, but now it looked as though his Colonel couldn't (or wouldn't?) come up with one of his famous 'plans.  
Mind numb with shock, pain from the many physical hurts he'd sustained making his whole body ache profusely, Tem walked slowly, following a meandering path through the small thicket of trees and shrubs, shivering as he entered the shade and the sunshine disappeared. Finding a convenient tree stump, he sat down to catch his breath and stared unseeingly at the patch of flowering shrubs just in front of him.   
He didn't know how long he'd sat there, when he heard his name being called from the direction of the house; he didn't even raise his head. He wasn't ready to speak to them yet, he had to think what to do - but he was so tired. Maybe if he just closed his eyes, the nightmares wouldn't find him out here in the fresh air. Hardly conscious of his actions, Face lowered himself to the short grass under the shrubs, and fell into an uneasy doze almost immediately.

His three Teammates and Maggie had spread out and were searching in a pattern, each one covering an area of wooded land, as they knew Face's blue robe would stand out against the lawns and flower beds - so he had to be in one of the numerous groves of trees in the grounds. They called his name at frequent intervals, but Hannibal was growing more convinced that Face hadn't just gone for a walk, he'd heard or seen something to distress him and ran off to lick his wounds in private. They would have to find him, he was certain Face wouldn't find them.  
As he searched, the Colonel worriedly wondered what had upset Face; he'd seemed to be calmer after his outburst earlier, or Smith wouldn't have left the room. He stopped short as he remembered his talk with Maggie, maybe the kid had heard and, and...   
Oh no! he groaned, there was no knowing what Face would do if he'd heard about that damned video. He hadn't even dared tell Murdock and B.A. about it yet. Why he hadn't just destroyed it unseen, he didn't know, but he'd had some vague notion that if he knew, actually knew what had happened to Face, he could somehow help him more than he was.  
All it had done was make him want to kill the bastards who'd treated his lover in such a brutal manner - kill them over and over and over again.  
He paused to check with Murdock and B.A. via the tiny radios they'd each got from the van, but they'd had no luck as yet. He reported his own position then moved on, following a little path through this stand of trees. Rounding a small bend in the track, he caught his breath as he saw a patch of blue a few yards away. Hurrying towards it, his eyes lit up as he recognized the figure of his beloved lieutenant lying curled up under the shrubs, asleep.   
Raising the radio, he joyfully reported his find as he moved towards the sleeping form, but his joy soon turned to concern as he approached Face.   
The younger man was lying tightly curled in a ball, his body shaking and he moaned faintly as Smith gently turned him onto his back. Hannibal became conscious that the grass beneath his knees was damp and he swiftly pulled Face into a sitting position, noticing with growing anxiety that the blue robe was wet. His Lieutenant's face was white and the dark rings around his eyes looked black against the pallor. Face's arms were clutched around his chest and Hannibal picked him up quickly, settling the damp fair head against his shoulder before turning back the way he'd come.  
He looked down as a faint murmur caught his attention.   
Face's eyes were open, watching him in puzzlement. "Hannibal?" he croaked, raising one hand to touch the side of Smith's cheek.  
"Yes Tem, it's me. You're safe now, don't worry. We'll soon have you well again.”  
"Well again? Don't understand," sighed Face. "Had a terrible dream, thought you'd gone away for good and left me." His hand trailed down the smooth-shaven cheek as he went on, "it was lonely and cold, and there were some men..." He shuddered, "they were doing terrible things to me Hannibal, things you wouldn't like - they hurt me."   
His voice trailed off into an indistinguishable murmur and Hannibal hugged him, his eyes filling with tears as he spoke to his lover. "I know Tem, I know they hurt you. We got them Face. Murdock, B.A. and me, we got those sadistic bastards." He fought to steady his voice before he added, "but we'll have to learn to forget them if we've any future together, we both must learn to forget." He wasn't sure whether Peck was conscious enough to hear his words, but felt slightly comforted himself at being able to say them.   
He had himself under control by the time he saw Murdock running towards him. "Murdock, go get Maggie, bring her to the house.” He answered the pilot's agonized look at the figure he carried, "It's okay, he's not hurt, but he's very damp and cold, I don't want to take any chances.”  
Murdock didn't waste words, but he touched Face gently on the cheek before turning and running like a hare to where he'd last seen Maggie.   
A few moments later B.A. hurried towards them, his face lightening as he saw his Colonel carrying their missing comrade  
"Shall I take him, Hannibal?" he asked, holding out his huge arms,  
"No thanks, B.A. I can manage, he's not very heavy. Maybe you could go help Murdock find Maggie, I think we might need her. He's very cold," he added.  
The big sergeant nodded his understanding and like Murdock, couldn't resist reaching out to brush the backs of his thick fingers gently across Face's brow, before hurrying away.  
By the time Smith reached the house, Maggie was waiting, a trifle breathless, Murdock had run her all the way back. "Bad as being back in the Army," she grumbled amiably, but all levity left her face as she saw Smith's burden.  
She led the way into the house and upstairs, reasoning it would be better to put Face straight to bed.

An hour later, after a warm bath which he hadn't known anything about, clad in fresh, dry pyjamas, Face was sleeping quietly in his bed, watched by three anxious men and one tired doctor.  
Dr. Sullivan stretched and sat back in the armchair B.A. had brought to the side of the bed. "I think he's gonna be okay guys, his temperature is up a couple of points, but that's more because of the stress than the damp grass, although that didn't help of course.”  
The men nodded, still not being able to believe that the incident had turned out as well as it had. Having helped bathe Face, they'd all seen the marks on his body, which although healing, were still horribly vivid.  
They'd been trying to forget the state Face had been in when they'd first rescued him, but it had all been brought back today. The bruises on his chest and face were beginning to fade, but the worst ones on his lower body and back, still made them shudder.  
Murdock felt like crying out in pain at the sight of the angry round burns on the soft, inside flesh of Face's lean thighs and in his groin, very near his genitals; they were also on his buttocks and shoulders.  
Maggie had reassured them that the marks would disappear, but like all burns, even minor ones, they were very painful and would take time to fade. Neither she nor his comrades liked to contemplate what he'd suffered while they'd been applied to his helpless body.  
"Why don't you get some rest, Maggie," suggested Hannibal at last. "We can sit with him for a while.”  
She nodded. "Thanks, I'll do that. Anyone want some coffee?"  
B.A. heaved himself to his feet. “I'll come down and make it, Doc, you take a rest. You might need it later.”  
Maggie agreed and they went out together leaving Hannibal and Murdock sitting on either side of the bed, watching the slow rise and fall of their comrade's chest, each busy trying to come to terms with their feelings.  
In Hannibal's heart hope was strong, as he recalled Face's whispered words as he'd borne him back to the house. Things at last were becoming clearer. He realised now that while he'd been so worried that Face blamed him for his injuries, the younger man had been agonizing that Smith was going to leave him. He didn't quite know why Face had thought this, he had done his best to reassure his lover, but obviously hadn`t managed to make Tem understand how much he wanted to stay with him.  
Murdock's movement made him look across at the pilot, but the younger man was just leaning over to check on Face. He caught Smith's eye and smiled sheepishly. “Just wanted to make sure he was okay,” he said.  
Hannibal returned the smile and nodded understandingly, realising, not for the first time, how fond Murdock was of Peck.   
To outsiders, their friendship was mystifying. There seemed to be no common ground between the zany pilot with his countless personas and weird sense of humour, and the immaculately dressed, sophisticated, Faceman.   
Peck gave some people the impression that his only concern was which outfit he should wear, or which female he should date, but the people who knew him best were very much aware of the razor-sharp intelligence hidden behind those guileless sea-green eyes, and the sensitive, emotional man beneath the layer of cool, languid con-man.   
Murdock seemed the more volatile of the two, yet when necessary was seen to be in total command of himself and his surroundings, but usually took great pains to hide this behind his ultra extrovert behaviour.  
The two men shared, together with Smith and Baracus, a rare sense of belonging. They were bound together by their experiences: in the hell of a Vietnam jungle; an even more terrible prison camp; then by their arrest and conviction by the Army they’d trusted.  
Having escaped from Fort Bragg and reuniting with the pilot, they were still bound together by their sense of justice and confidence that they could make a difference. Apart, they were individual misfits, together they were a unit, solid and reliable, and this was manifest in the way they went out of their way to help others fight against tyranny and ignorance.  
Murdock sat back, not really concerned what Hannibal thought, he knew the Colonel understood him, usually a lot better than he did himself. He loved Face on every level and would cheerfully have died for him and for Smith and Baracus, and knew without being told, that they would all do the same for him and each other. This cold-blooded and savage attack on a helpless man, confused the pilot. He'd known the men they were after were vicious, but not since the Team had been captured and subjected to every inhuman act that men could derive to make their fellow men suffer, had he felt such hatred. Yet that very hatred and anger made him feel uneasy, how was he to help Face when he didn't understand himself.  
His thoughts were interrupted as Face moaned slightly, twisting to one side, one hand stretching above his head. “No...” he muttered, “I won't...you can't...can't make me do that..." His face contorted into a grimace of torment and despair. “What you doin'? Get off me, you scum...get away from me. Let me go, let me go," he yelled suddenly, struggling up in the bed, arms flailing wildly.  
Hannibal and Murdock were instantly on their feet, each catching hold of a hand and trying to soothe him. “Okay, you're okay now Face. Wake up, kid, come on," urged Hannibal, but Face, barely conscious, was still in the grip of the nightmare that would never entirely leave him. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth and he moaned again, his body jerking in heartbreaking spasms as he relived his ordeal again. At last his strength gave out and he flopped back onto the bed, trying to curl up into a ball, but his arms were still stretched out...as if he was tied up, thought Murdock in horror. He raised his stricken eyes to Hannibal and saw the same knowledge in the cold blue depths.  
Hannibal looked away, down at the panting figure of his beloved. “Wake up, Tem," he urged quietly but insistently. “Come on, wake up, you're safe now, they won't hurt you again.”  
Face mumbled. “Hurt me, they're hurting me. Come on guys, hurry up, come and get me outta here. Hannibal they're hurting me.”  
His eyes opened suddenly, looking straight up at Smith. He flinched back from the Colonel's gentle touch, his face paling even further.  
For a moment, Hannibal stared at him, his own face going white, then he got up and walked towards the bathroom, unable to bear the accusation he saw in the younger man's eyes.  
Murdock started up to stay him, then sat down again as he realised he still held Face's hand. He gently stroked the trembling fingers. “It's okay, Face, everything will be okay,” he promised helplessly.  
Face shook his head. “No it won't, Murdock,” his voice was very tired. "You saw what happened. Hannibal can't stand to look at me.”  
“No!” cried Murdock. “It's not like that. He's upset, 'cos... 'cos,” he stopped.   
“Because I can't bear him to get too close,” said Face.  
Murdock nodded dumbly, wondering at the quiet certainty in his friend's voice. “He only wants to help, Face.”  
The blond head gave a negative shake. “He can't.”  
“Why don't you talk to him?”  
Face started to shiver and his head rolled back and forth on the pillow. “No. Can't tell him! Mustn't tell Hannibal, he won't want me at all then. They said I wouldn't be any use to anybody. No-one would want me.” His fingers grasped Murdock's tightly. “Can it be true? Oh, dear God, help me.” He started to sob quietly, despairingly, then after the longest five minutes of Murdock's recent existence, Face sank into an exhausted doze, his breath catching on an uneven sob every now and then.  
Murdock released the hand he was holding and became aware of the tall figure of his commander standing at the foot of the bed. He hadn't heard Smith come back into the room.  
Looking up into the older man’s blue eyes, he saw the same sick horror he knew was in his own, Hannibal had heard everything that Face had said.  
Murdock didn't envy his commander's thoughts at that particular moment. He knew he wanted to find those callous men whose words had been imprinted with such force on Face's memory and wipe them from the face of the earth.  
Hannibal's feelings were indescribable, having seen on the video the brutal way the men had used his lover, and the fight the younger man had put up against insurmountable odds, he cringed from even trying to explain to the pilot why Face felt as he did. Murdock, however, wasn't thinking of why his friend had said the words, he was crying inside at the torment so visible in Face s every movement. He wanted to help, but despite his own experiences at the V.A. he just didn't know how, he was too close to the person involved.  
At last he raised his gaze, his brown eyes swimming in unshed tears. “We have to help him, Hannibal, but how? How do we erase those sort of memories?" He shook his head.  
Hannibal leaned across and put his hand on the pilot's shaking shoulder. “We can't erase them, Murdock," he said compassionately. “We have to help him live with them, or he'll never be well again. Like we all had to do after that prison camp, we live with it, or we die with it.”  
Murdock shuddered. “They didn't even have the feeble excuse of it being wartime,” he said bitterly.  
Hannibal shook his head. “That kind don't need an excuse, they see a helpless man - or animal, and have to torment it - just like some of those guards. That kind of cruelty doesn't belong to just one race, it's a universal sickness.”  
There was silence a moment, each man with his memories of a time they wanted to forget, but would never go away, then Hannibal went on slowly. “I think the best way to help Face is to try and make him understand that it has made no difference to the way we feel about him. You heard him, he's afraid he's useless to anyone, that he isn't wanted. He's gonna need an awful lot of love and understanding, Murdock. He'll fight us, and make us mad with him - just to test our feelings.” He raised a hand as Murdock started to protest. “Oh, I don' t mean he'll do it deliberately, he won’t even know what he’s doing, or why, or the moods he’s in. But we mustn't suffocate him with bland promises, or not allow him to face responsibility - that way we’ll lose him for sure.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “You know how sensitive to atmosphere he is, he’ll know if we try and con him.”  
Murdock nodded slowly. “Yes, I understand that. I'll try Hannibal, I'll surely try.”  
“I know you will, Captain.”  
Murdock shifted uncomfortably. “What about you, Hannibal? How're you going to manage. He'll need you most of all.” He broke off and shook his head. “Did you hear him? Those bastards really tore him up, mentally and physically. Can you handle that?”  
Hannibal met the concerned brown eyes steadily. “I can handle that, Murdock.” Because I love him, he thought, then cleared his throat to add aloud. “Because whatever was done to him, he wasn't part of it. He fought it and them - he didn't give in, that's why he's hurt so badly now. I - we, have to try and make him see that he couldn't have done more. If we hadn't got there, they would have killed him before he gave in to them.” He paused as Murdock nodded in agreement. “You and I know that; B.A. knows that - we have to make Face realise that.”  
Murdock sat back, his mind partially eased by his Colonel's quiet determination.

Another week had passed since Hannibal and Face returned to the penthouse apartment they shared. It hadn't been easy for Smith to persuade Maggie to allow him to take Face away from the house and out from under her eagle, professional eye. She had only agreed when Hannibal had promised to talk to Jim Hunter and ask him to take up Face's medical care.  
Smith knew Maggie was anxious about Face's emotional state of mind, and his too, but he had been adamant. Face wasn't even going to try to get better while the doctor was around. She was too much of a threat to his peace of mind loving Hannibal as she did - and although Face would never admit to it - he was jealous and insecure.  
Hannibal had listened stoically and with an inward grin, to the list of instructions she'd given him - she hated not being able to use her medical skills to help one of the men she cared for so deeply.  
The first two days Face had been quiet and seemed happy with the arrangement; he had made only a token protest at having to continue the medical treatment which Jim Hunter had agreed to take over. He still hated to be touched, and Smith knew that Hunter was concerned at his former college-friend's physical and emotional condition, not by anything the doctor had said specifically, but by the careful questions Hunter had asked in an attempt to understand.  
Face's physical hurts were healing, only the deeper bruises and burns still needing treatment, but he wouldn't allow Hannibal or Murdock, to see him undressed, and even Hunter had a struggle to examine him.  
As the days passed, Face became obsessive about showering and changing his clothes. If Hannibal brushed passed him, Face tensed and his eyes would widen warily. It was not only very frustrating to Hannibal, but upsetting too. Since they'd taken up residence with each other - before the Maddox case - he'd got used to seeing Face walking around the spacious apartment with little or nothing on, no hint of shyness or hesitation in his open manner. He loved, had loved, Hannibal's stolen caresses, welcoming them, teasing his Colonel, always ready to be kissed or embraced, giving back to Hannibal the love he received in ample measure. This cold aloofness, the wary suspicion, was very hurtful to Smith. Sometimes he did want to touch, to comfort and soothe his lover, but would never dream of forcing any kind of intimacy in the present circumstances, indeed had never forced himself on Face at any time.  
Both Murdock and B.A. had telephoned and visited several times, but it was evident that B.A. was out of his depth. He wanted to help but didn't know how. Never good with words, even his strength was useless in this situation. He wanted to help Face, who was dearer to him than a brother, but was tongue-tied; he couldn’t give Face the hug he knew he should - the hug he wanted to give, that would be using his strength no matter how gentle his touch.   
The thought kept intruding - brute strength had been the instrument of his friend's torment.  
On B.A.’s latest visit Face had been very nervous, and trying to hide it, had become irritable with Murdock when the pilot had asked if he was in pain. The big man had clenched his fists into muscle-cracking tightness as he thought of what the slender body of his teammate had endured at the hands of those.... “Bastards,” he' d muttered, his tone full of rage. Baracus had wanted to lash out, give those slime-balls a taste of his strength - but they were beyond his reach now. Behind bars where he hoped they would rot for the rest of their lives.  
Murdock too, had been helpless against Peck's determined, almost desperate, coolness, not even the pilot's zany humour and stories, could penetrate the defensive wall Face had thrown up against everyone, including his closest friends.  
The tall captain still tried every time he called, but each time he left the apartment, his dark brown eyes were filled with fear.  
One particular visit, Murdock would never forget,. A few days after his friends had moved back to the apartment, Hannibal went out for a while on some business, leaving Murdock to keep Face company. The younger man seemed to be in a quiet, retrospective kind of mood and out of the blue asked, “Do you ever think about ‘Nam?”  
Murdock was startled and just stopped himself from giving a flippant reply on the lines of ‘as little as possible’.   
“Sometimes,” he replied cautiously, “Why?”  
Peck shrugged but didn't reply.  
After a short silence, Murdock asked tentatively, “You want to talk, Face?” Maybe if he could get Peck to unburden himself, he could be of some use, instead of just sitting here watching his friend's pain.  
Face didn't reply, wandering restlessly around the room. Just as Murdock thought he wasn't going to answer at all, Peck said in a low voice. “You know Murdock, it sounds ridiculous, but I was so surprised,” he paused and the pilot held his breath.  
“Back in 'Nam and...and that prison camp.” A shudder ran through the slim body, “I...we got to expect brutality.”  
Murdock nodded, icicles running down his spine as unwelcome memories of torture and starvation stirred within him. It had been a brutal war and the guards had hated the prisoners.  
Incidents had happened every day to the Team, to their friends and other prisoners. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”  
Peck stopped pacing and lifted his head, his eyes burning too brightly. “Do you Murdock, do you really know what I mean?”  
The dark haired man nodded. “About the prison camp? Yes I do.”  
Peck looked at him another long moment then returned to his wandering. They both remembered the camp - and the guards. Born of a different race and culture, the V.C. were as alien to the American prisoners as people from another world. The two friends also remembered the unbelievable atrocities that had shocked and numbed their senses - sheer wanton cruelty and barbarity.   
Face paused to look out of the window again, the afternoon sunshine spilling golden light across his fair hair. “It's strange but I wasn't surprised by the prison camp, horrified yes, but...” The quiet voice tailed off as memories surged through his mind.  
Peck had expected imprisonment to be bad from what they knew of the V.C. methods before the Team were captured. The memories of that time were still with them all, although they rarely spoke of them even to each other. They had other more immediate dangers to contend with, not only from the military, but also from the various enemies they'd made when helping their clients.  
It had been ten years since Vietnam and the necessity of being forever alert in a war zone - his life and the lives of his friends dependent upon that awareness. Although he still had to be on his guard, the immediate danger of being stalked by a brutal enemy in dense jungle had been dissipated by the years in the supposedly civilised environments of a large city like Los Angeles. For no matter how dangerous the military were to the Team as a whole, the risk of being tortured by Briggs and his command was non existent. True they might be roughly handled, face a very long prison sentence, or at the very worst - killed by a stray bullet.   
Peck had, after all, faced that particular danger every day of his adult years, but none of the Team would have been tortured by the Army, not physically anyway, though the mental torment would have been bad for them all. The sheer cruelty of the sexual torture from his fellow Americans, was something he had not expected. He had been unprepared for the viciousness of the assault and its consequences.  
“...those men at the beach house not only shocked me, they surprised me too,” Peck's voice was even lower, speaking more to himself than his companion. “Americans, born and raised in a supposedly civilised country - yet they treated me like some sort of...of...body, that only existed to satisfy their perverted lusts.” He shook his head unable to go on.  
He just hadn't been able to believe that they would actually do the barbaric things they had, tormenting him just for the hell of it - not even trying for information - just torture for the sake of it.   
“Why Murdock? Why on earth would they do that to me?” His shoulders were shaking and he leaned his head against the cool glass.  
The pilot was across the room in an instant, his arm going very carefully around the bowed shoulders. “I don't know, Tem. Some men are like that, not happy unless they're hurting someone, anyone. You were helpless and alone - that was more than enough excuse for their sick minds.”  
Face was shivering. “I keep thinking that I must've done something...something that gave them an excuse. D’you think so, Murdock?”  
Murdock's arm tightened as he replied quickly. “No, Face, you didn't do anything at all, except be in the wrong place at the wrong time. You hear me?” He shook his friend slightly.  
Peck turned his head and Murdock's heart ached for the bewilderment and pain in the wide eyes. “I hear you,” was the toneless reply, but the pilot had the uneasy suspicion that Face didn't, or couldn’t believe him. Those bastards had hurt more than his body, they had shaken his confidence in himself and the people who loved him.  
Although Murdock tried to draw Peck out again, he would say nothing more on the subject.   
When Smith came back to the apartment about an hour later, Murdock's dark eyes were full of despair.

After his talk with Murdock, Face was even more irritable and moody than before, as though he'd stirred up memories he would rather have forgotten about.  
The next few days were very exhausting. All Hannibal's earlier hopes that things would improve once they were living together again, were fading fast. Face's mood swings, ranging from temper outbursts to periods of silence, when he would prowl around the apartment like a wild thing hunting for freedom, strained even his Colonel's patience.   
One particular day, things were really bad. Every question or suggestion Smith made was either ignored, or sarcastically sneered at, until Hannibal had to escape into the bathroom before he lashed out verbally at his beautiful, beloved tormentor. Even this proved inadequate, as Face continued the tirade, his angry voice coming through the door panels at Smith. The Colonel made some abrupt excuse and left the apartment, swearing under his breath and vowing that he wouldn't take much more of this.  
Two hours later, Smith sat in an armchair in Maggie's little apartment attached to the clinic, turning the empty whisky glass round and round in his hands. He’d just come from seeing Jim Hunter and felt the need to talk to someone other than the Team. His steps had just gravitated towards Maggie's clinic and after the first surprised and happy greeting, the Doctor had taken a good look at him and reached for the whisky bottle. Without a word, she filled two glasses with the fiery spirit and sat down beside him, just waiting for him to talk to her.  
Smith had lost weight and looked very drawn and pale, the tired lines around his eyes were deeply etched, and there was a tight set to his usually smiling mouth.  
Unable to refrain from touching him, Maggie laid a hand on his. “Tell me, Hannibal,” she commanded softly.  
He raised his head and Maggie winced at the bleakness which shadowed the clear blue of his eyes.  
“Nothing to tell, really,” he said slowly. “There's no change for the better in Tem's mood, and although Hunter says his injuries are healing, he seems worried, even though he tries to be cheerful about it.”  
Maggie sighed. “I can understand that. Hunter will be worried about Face's state of mind, this period will be difficult for patient and doctor alike - and his friends,” she added, squeezing his fingers, which had unconsciously twined around her own.  
“Will he get better, Maggie?” Smith looked directly at her and the Doctor felt the impact of his appeal in her heart and also in her body.  
She tried to be practical, telling herself that it was useless to be in love with this handsome, charismatic man, but her whole body was denying reason. She wanted to feel the strength of those arms around her, feel the long fingers tracing erotic patterns on her body and taste the sweetness of his mouth against her own.  
“Will he?” Smith's low question brought Maggie down to earth with a thud to realize that her hand was being crushed, as his grip tightened on her fingers.  
She flushed and tried to gather her thoughts. “Er...yes, of course he will," she stuttered.  
Smith looked at her, his expression grim. “The truth, Maggie. Please.”  
The Doctor took a deep breath. “Okay. The truth is he will heal, physically. The scars will fade, even the deep ones, and he'll look as handsome as ever.”  
Hannibal made an angry gesture and Maggie went on. “Okay, I know you don't love him for his looks alone, none of us do, but it's hard to know what to say really.” She paused. “The trauma has gone deep. Like most rape victims he feels soiled and useless to himself or anyone else. At first he didn't want to be touched, afraid of even a friend's touch. As time goes on that might change, he may even be afraid that no one will want to touch him.”  
She paused again then said slowly. “He may even think that you...we...are angry with him, blame him for what happened.”  
Smith started to angrily deny this, but Maggie held up a hand. “I'm trying to tell you of other cases I've had experience with. Some things are similar, but individuals react differently to them.” She shook her head sadly. “I've known of cases where the other partner has blamed the victim, they didn't realize it, but sometimes it broke up the relationship.”  
Hannibal gazed at her and there was something in his eyes that frightened Maggie. Disgust? But for whom, or what?  
Doctor Sullivan made up her mind. She loved this man very dearly, but she couldn't let him tear himself apart. She would have to probe a little deeper, even at the risk of losing his friendship.  
“What is it, Hannibal?”  
He just sat looking right through her - at something deep in his mind.  
Maggie leaned across the small space separating them and shook his shoulder. “Come on Hannibal, talk to me, damn you. Let it out, what are you thinking about. Tell me,” she insisted, her voice under control now.  
To her relief, Smith blinked and his gaze returned from the far distance. He lifted his glass and finding it empty, held it out for a refill. Reaching behind her, Maggie grabbed the bottle from the table.  
Refilling her own glass too, she deliberately re-corked the bottle and sat waiting, one hand on his wrist, the other holding her drink.  
“Come on Colonel, talk to me, tell me what's been eating you up for weeks now.”  
“That obvious, eh?” He tried a grin which failed to more than twitch his lips.  
“Yes,” she said, softly. “Now there's nothing you can tell me that I haven't already heard at some time or another, and I do want to help you, and Tem. So...talk!”  
Smith sipped his drink slowly and Maggie touched him gently on the cheek. “Try and tell me, honey,” she whispered.  
“It was something you just said...hit me where it hurts.” He ran a hand through his silver hair, ruffling it up.  
“About what?”  
“’bout...about the...the other partner blaming the victim.” His voice was so low she could barely hear it.  
“Go on,” she encouraged.  
“I feel such...such bitterness...and anger,” Hannibal went on slowly. “You know Maggie, I've loved Tem since he was just a kid. Watched him growing into a man, through that hell of a war, all the different affairs he's had, too scared to declare myself. Scared that I'd frighten him off.”  
He took another swallow, the liquor tasteless on his tongue, and the Doctor didn't dare breathe in case she disturbed his thoughts.  
“Then...when we went on the run, I was happy just to know he was still around - to talk to, laugh with. The day I found out he felt the same way about me, was the very best day of my life, and it just got better and better when we were together.”   
His eyes softened into a dreamy mist for an instant and Maggie couldn’t help the pang of jealousy that rippled through her very bones. She tried to ignore it as her companion went on.  
“In fact with my whole Team together, we could take on the whole world - and win.” He laughed, a harsh abrupt sound. “How mistaken I was.”  
“You've had plans go wrong before,” Maggie said gently.  
“Yeah, I know. We've all been wounded before too - but this is different. Our luck ran out this time. We really got hurt! All of us, the kid most of all.”  
He raised his head, blue eyes tormented. “And you know the worst of it, Maggie? I have been blaming Tem for this.”  
Maggie's mouth fell open. “What?”  
Smith didn't seem to hear her. “I’ve loved him so much and for such a long time. Did you know, I was the first man he'd ever been with? The very first.” He smacked the table hard with the flat of his hand, making the Doctor jump.   
“Now...that sleaze ball Maddox has taken something of mine, something very precious - and broken it beyond mending. There are times when I feel as though I'll never feel the same way about Tem again - can never look at him without seeing someone else between us.” His voice broke on the beginnings of a sob, but he fought it down. “I hate those bastards like I've never hated anyone, they have destroyed something very beautiful and unique. I think I've lost Tem...feel like I've lost everything.” He paused then added harshly, “And I've been blaming that poor kid for letting them do that to him. What kind of a man does that make me?”  
Maggie leaned forward and this time took his face between her palms. “A very good man, Hannibal. A strong man who has been badly hurt and the person he loves brutally violated, physically and mentally.” She stroked her thumb over his cheekbone. “But given time, they will both recover. Believe me, Colonel. There’s too much love between you and Tem to ever die. This is the worst part, the doubting period...the guilty period. But with help, it will pass.”  
He blinked at the intensity in her voice and her grasp.   
Maggie saw the doubt in his eyes and insisted. “It will pass, Hannibal, I know it will,.” She moved a fraction closer. “Tell me, Hannibal, what do you think now? You've told me how guilty you've been feeling, but now... what do you think at this instant?”  
Smith gazed at her, almost hypnotised. “I...I...think you have the most gorgeous brown eyes, Doctor...and talk a lot of good sense.”  
He put his hands over hers and drew them down his cheeks. Then leaning forward he kissed her gently on the lips. In that second Maggie knew she'd lost Hannibal without ever having had the chance of forging a closer relationship with him. The kiss was sweet, warm, gentle and, friendly.  
Her eyes closed for a moment, then rallying her self control she drew back and gave him a small smile. “What did I tell you...you still love that blond kid. I think you always will.”  
“I hope you're right, Maggie. He's been the center of my world for such a long time.” He shook his head. “I hope I can stop blaming us both.”  
“You've made a start, Hannibal, you recognize the danger now. Do you think you might've been letting your guilt show to Tem, and he's picking up on it and blaming himself too? I've known that happen.”  
Smith shrugged and stood up, stretching his arms. “Maybe,” he acknowledged. “Maybe it's time we both started to live again and stop blaming ourselves and each other.”  
Maggie rose too and nodded. “That's a very good idea, Colonel.”

Smith thought about this conversation many times over the next few days, as he tried to help his beloved Lieutenant, for he realized what he'd known in his heart all along - Tem was still his beloved, would always be that. His love for his longtime friend hadn't died under the weight of the guilt and pain, it had merely taken cover while the storm raged on another level; but it was there, deep in his heart and soul. Once he recognized and remembered that fact, Hannibal could see more clearly - now all he had to do was make sure that Tem saw the truth too.

Two weeks later, Hannibal tiredly pushed the elevator button and took a deep breath. He leaned back against the luxurious polished-wood walls of the car, trying to relax, it had been a tough day, he was exhausted and was later than he'd intended.  
As he walked the short distance along the carpeted hallway, Hannibal anxiously wondered what sort of mood Face would be in this evening and whether he'd ventured out of the apartment. Since their return home, Peck had only been out briefly to Jim Hunter's house for his weekly medical examination. He didn't stay out long, certain that people looked at him as though they knew what had happened - and either eyed him with contempt - or worse - interest. In vain both Hunter and Hannibal told him that was nonsense, no one else could know, but Peck wasn't convinced. Smith gave a short sigh, he wanted so much for Face to get better, but it was even slower than he had imagined.  
As he opened the front door, the sound of music greeted him, it sounded as though Face was playing the piano. Hannibal smiled affectionately, he loved to see those sensitive square-tipped fingers moving so quickly and surely over the keys: music had always been a prime ingredient in Face's life. It had soothed and relaxed him in the past and now in these trying circumstances, Hannibal was glad to see it hadn't lost its magic hold over his lover.  
The melancholy and haunting music swelled louder as Hannibal entered the lounge. The rosy light cast by the afternoon sun low down on the horizon, slanted through the windows, reflecting on the polished wood of the instrument, in the silken sheen of the white shirt Face wore and picked out the gold in his hair as he sat at the piano - a thick fringe of the shining mane falling over his right eye, a look of quiet concentration on his handsome features.

Hannibal's heart did its usual flip at the beautiful picture, and ached too, as the soft but strong light picked out the marks of fading bruises on the fine cheekbones.  
A trifle surprised that Face wasn't playing one of his usual classical pieces, his memory supplied the words to the melody: 'Oh my love, I hunger for your touch...'  
Not wishing to interrupt the pianist, Hannibal quietly took off his jacket, wondering if the song held any message for him. He certainly hungered to touch Tem - but did Tem also want his touch.  
Drawn like a lodestone towards his lover, lulled by the peaceful scene, Hannibal came to stand behind Face and as he'd done frequently in the past, rested one hand on the silk-clad shoulder. He was shocked at Face’s reaction. The younger man shrank from his touch and flung himself sideways from the stool, one hand lifted as if to ward off a blow, as he fell to the carpet.  
“Tem, Tem...it's me. I’m sorry...didn’t mean to startle you.” Hannibal bent down to help Face to his feet, cursing himself for an idiot.  
Peck angrily batted the hand away and climbed to his feet, eyes sparking blue flame at the older man.  
“Well, you did. Why don't you cough or something next time you creep up on me, Colonel?” Face's voice trembled slightly. He had been lost in the music and had not heard Hannibal enter the apartment. The gentle touch had triggered a feeling of panic and he was angry with himself for feeling fear and with Hannibal for causing it.  
“Okay,” agreed Smith quietly, not wanting trouble.  
Peck ran a nervous hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “Where've you been anyway? You said you'd be back by lunch-time, it's gone four?”  
Smith shrugged and stepped back, wanting to apologize and soothe his lover, but knowing he couldn’t touch Peck the mood he was in.  
“I got delayed at the studio, Paul had a problem with the costume department and I helped sort it out.”  
“Oh yes, of course,” sneered Face. “Make sure Paul and the studio are okay. Never mind keeping me waiting. Well, it’s nice to know where your priorities lie, Colonel. I’m surprised you've come back at all, actually. It's not much fun around here now, is it?” He was being deliberately provoking, his lips curled into a mocking grimace, in place of his usual sunny smile.  
“Not much, no,” Smith replied evenly, refusing to raise his voice.  
Peck flushed scarlet, then paled. “Maybe you want to leave and haven't got the guts to tell me - is that it, huh Hannibal?”  
Hannibal shook his head. “When I'm ready to leave, I’ll tell you - to your face. Now how about some coffee? I'm tired and hungry, didn't have time for a break this afternoon,” he went on, trying to defuse the volatile situation.  
He moved towards the kitchen, but suddenly Tem’s slim figure was blocking his path, sea-green eyes almost black with anger.  
“Coffee! Is that all you can think of? Why didn't you get Paul to get you something to eat? I'm sure he'll only be too pleased to oblige, and not just with coffee and sandwiches either, I'll bet.” He sneered, raising one eyebrow suggestively.  
Smith halted, feeling the red tide of anger and frustration flood to his face. He was conscious of Tem taking a half step back, visibly bracing himself for the blow he sensed coming.  
Hannibal lowered his raised hand and although he felt choked with anger said coldly and evenly: “You selfish-son-of-a-bitch.” The words dropped slowly and deliberately into the sudden silence. “How dare you talk to me like that? Paul has been a good friend to both of us, and I’m certainly not going to turn him away when he needs help.”  
He paused to take a breath, his tone becoming weary. “And for your information, Lieutenant, all your friends have tried to help you, but you're so determined to wallow in self pity and your own misery, you can't see what you're doing to them - how miserable they are.”  
The color had drained even more from Peck's features at Hannibal's first words, now his cheeks flushed again, with shame; but instead of allowing that emotion to surface, he again took refuge in recriminations.  
“Oh yeah! Well, I'm sorry you and my friends are miserable, Colonel. Tell you what, why don't you get out of here, go and find yourself some more congenial company, there'll be plenty of that around now that I'm no further use to you in that department.”  
His voice held only the slightest tremble, as the blue-black eyes stared defiantly back at the older man, but underneath the surface brightness and anger, Smith could see the misery and uncertainty he was trying to hide.  
Hannibal bit his lip, much as he wanted to reassure and comfort his lover, he knew he couldn't allow Tem to get away with this for very much longer. So, looking steadily at the younger man he nodded. “Okay, if that's what you want, I will.”   
Walking across to his discarded jacket, he shrugged it on, “See you around, kid.”  
As the door closed quietly behind Smith, Face stared at the panels disbelievingly.  
Hannibal had walked out on him. He'd never done that before. No, he couldn't have, his Colonel would be back in a minute. Hannibal had never lifted a hand to him in anger before either. If Hannibal had hit him, it was nothing less than he deserved, after all, he’d been rather rough on his silver-haired lover.  
The minutes passed and the door stayed stubbornly shut.  
Tem swayed and staggered rather than walked to the nearest chair and collapsed into it.  
What had he done? Lashing out like a wounded animal in his pain and misery, he'd finally driven away the one person he loved and needed most.  
How many times had Hannibal offered him comfort these last weeks, only to have it rejected, sometimes petulantly, sometimes angrily. The Colonel had always come back, never refusing to talk to Tem, been there in silent support whenever necessary.   
Only two nights ago, Face remembered, he'd woken up shivering with the aftermath of his recurring nightmare. Maddox! Maddox’s hands on him. Maddox’s mouth sucking, teeth biting into his flesh, the shocked horror and sheer agony he’d experienced as the gangster`s body had savagely invaded his - brutal and uncaring.  
Tem groaned, burying his face in his hands. Would that memory ever fade? Would he ever be able to forget? He just didn't understand how the incident could effect him the way it had.   
He’d suffered starvation, brutal beatings, torture and degradation in the prison camp, had had some narrow escapes from being raped, but although tormented by the guards in the most varied of ways that a sadistic human mind could devise, his person had not been violated in quite the same way as it had in the hands of Maddox and his men.  
Peck ran shaking fingers through his hair, as though trying to brush the memories away. Hannibal! Hannibal! Determinedly he forced his thoughts back to his lover, clinging to the support that even the name could give.   
Hannibal had been there when he’d struggled back to wakefulness to find the older man sitting on the bed, cradling him in his arms. Smith’s voice had been low and soothing, strong hands gently brushing back his sweat-soaked hair, the words lost in the frenzied beating of his heart, only the love and tenderness remaining to ease his pain. Comforted for the moment, he’d fallen asleep again in Hannibal's arms, unafraid of the other man lying on top of the covers beside him.  
Then in the morning he’d been disagreeable to Hannibal again? Driving him away with sulky silences and sarcastic remarks about sleepless nights.  
How long he sat there, Face didn't know. It must've been more than an hour, because the sun had moved around the building and the room was darkening. Dark! Tem didn't usually mind the dark, he could hide there. But suddenly he needed light - and noise. He got stiffly to his feet, straightening slowly as his abrasions made themselves felt and moved to switch on the nearest lamp. As he did so, he heard the sound of a key in the front door and turned to face the doorway, heart pounding in a mixture of fear and hope.  
The tall figure of Hannibal appeared, casually tossing his jacket onto the nearest chair as he usually did.  
Face swayed with relief: Hannibal had come back, he'd come back. Cold fingers suddenly tempered his relief - was his Colonel staying, or had he just come back for his things?  
Before he could stop himself, Peck asked icily, “What's wrong, forget something?” Then mentally cursed his flippant tongue.  
Hannibal looked at him, fingers busy with lighting a cigar.   
He’d done some hard thinking while sitting in the coffee shop around the corner, and had come to a decision and an understanding with himself. He realised he’d been doing exactly what he'd told Murdock they must not do - cosset Face, pretend that everything was okay, and not allow him to think about what had happened. Just as he’d known while talking to Murdock, the protectiveness hadn’t worked, Tem was growing more and more edgy and fearful.   
Two nights ago when he' d been awakened by the low cries of distress from the adjoining bedroom, he’d held and comforted Face. Finding pleasure in just being able to sit and cradle his lover in his arms without a hint of desire, he'd allowed himself to hope that it was a beginning; that Tem was at last letting out his deep-seated horror. The next morning, however, Tem had been back in his shell - impact-proof and maybe, Hannibal sighed, even love-proof.  
Now it was time to prove his love; prove it by forcing Tem to get well. Time to get tough, curb his natural inclination to sympathise and allow Tem to set the pace. That hadn't worked, they were in danger of bitterness and hidden resentment forcing them apart - and Hannibal would walk through hell before he'd allow that to happen. Walk through it - and drag Tem with him, if it would improve their present situation.  
So now he shrugged, blowing out a cloud of aromatic smoke. “Not really, just went and had something to eat as it was patently obvious you weren’t going to offer me any refreshment.”  
Tem flushed in outraged astonishment; his hospitality had never been called into question before.  
“Oh gee, sorry about that. Can't manage to make a cup of coffee or a sandwich for yourself, huh? Pity about that. You’re getting lazy, Hannibal, relying too much on me, on my cooking. Well, sometimes I don’t feel like cooking, for you or anyone else.”  
“That's pretty obvious, Lieutenant. You can't be bothered to do much at all, lately.”  
Peck opened his mouth to retort, but Hannibal beat him to it. “And while we're on the subject, I think a few changes are due around here.”  
Tem’s jaw dropped. “What?”  
“Yeah,” replied Hannibal seating himself casually in his usual armchair. “This place used to be immaculate - now I can write my name in the dust.”  
Face stared in amazement. “You can't be serious, this place is always clean - you know I hate a dirty living space.”  
Hannibal went on as though he hadn't spoken. “You spend far too much time in the bathroom, you’re clean enough. Washing so often won’t make it go away, Tem, so cut it out.”   
Tem’s face went white and he closed his eyes in momentary pain.   
“Hannibal...” he croaked faintly.  
Smith ignored him, even though he cringed inwardly at the distress he was causing, and continued. “Jim Hunter is worried about you, you’re not making things any easier for yourself, or him, so try and cooperate a little more.”  
He paused, lifting his gaze, almost faltering as he saw the white face and pain-filled eyes. “I know it's tough on you, kid, but you have to try harder.”  
“Try harder,” choked Tem. “Doing what, Colonel? It's easy enough for you to say. You don’t have to let someone else into your mind and body. All those instruments poking me, making sure everything works properly.”  
He paced backwards and forwards a few times, halting in front of Smith's chair. “Well, nothing works properly, probably never will.” His voice had risen until he was shouting. “So where does that leave us, Colonel? Of course,” he sneered, “you always have Paul for relief, or any of your numerous acquaintances you never let me meet.”  
“Don't be a fool, Tem,” drawled Hannibal in a bored voice. “You know very well you’re the only one I love.”  
“Love?” snapped Face, refusing to acknowledge the relief that spread through his innards, making him feel weak. “You love me? Huh, that's a joke!” He paused, then added. “I'm useful to you, that's all. Good in bed, or at least I used to be. Good at getting what you want. If you loved me, you would never...” He stopped short, aghast at what he'd been about to say.  
“Yes, go on,” snapped Smith. “I’d never what?”  
Peck shrugged, trying to regain his composure. “Nothing, it isn't important.”  
Hannibal leaned forward stubbing out his cigar. Damn that control of Peck's. Smith knew he'd been about to hear something important, something that would give him a clue to Tem’s inner turmoil. There was obviously more than the actual assault bothering his younger lover.  
He’d known Tem was jealous of Maggie - that hurdle had been crossed safely. He was beginning to heal physically - another major barrier crossed, but the one preventing him from getting better was still hidden. Deep in that beautiful blond head was a well of despair and Hannibal was determined to get to the very bottom, lance the wound and let out the poison which was destroying Tem, destroying them both.  
He tried a different tack. “Okay, so you don't want to talk about it. That's fine. Go ahead, wallow in your self pity, that's all you're fit for nowadays. Once upon a time, you would’ve fought back, damned that scum to hell and bounced back. But I guess you've turned soft.”  
Hannibal hated the words that were coming so steadily from his mouth, but they were achieving his purpose, Tem was losing his temper again, and he braced himself for whatever was coming.  
“Soft? Turning soft, am I?” Tem was hurting so badly, he let go the thread of control he'd been hanging onto for weeks now. For Hannibal to accuse him of cowardice was the last straw.  
“Fought them should I? Have you any idea of how much I fought them, Hannibal, do you? I got some good blows in, hurt them a little...and you know what, it just made them meaner. They twisted me over, lit some cigars...like those big ones you smoke, remember? And they used them on me, want to see?”  
He tore open his shirt and threw it to one side. “See, nice aren't they?” he indicated the still red burn marks, “and there’s more...” He unzipped the tailored black pants, pushing them down over his hips revealing the same red marks on his lower belly, “pretty aren't they?” he half sobbed, then fumbling pulled up his shorts and pants. “Even that wasn’t the worst, I can still feel their hands...their rotten teeth...and their stinking bodies...the fat sweating bellies pressing me down into the bed. And the remarks, oh yes, the remarks, laughing at me as I fought and cursed them. Not so superior now, pretty boy...come on Blondie...lets see how you do it...you’ve got plenty of the right equipment...give us a little fun...open your mouth...open your legs.” He broke off, sobs choking him. “The bastards, I hate them.”  
He lifted blazing blue-black eyes to Hannibal’s compassionate sapphire ones. “Why the hell didn’t you come, Hannibal. I waited and waited...you didn't come to help me. You didn't come...” The despair in that cry almost made Hannibal weep, but he had to stay in command, he was too close now to the core of Tem’s anguish.  
Hannibal was on his feet, his prodding had broken the dam all right, now he too, was bleeding inside at his lover's torment.  
“I tried, Tem, I tried. We came as quickly as we could,” he said quietly, holding out his hands to the distraught man.  
“Oh yes, you always have a plan. Why don't they work when they're supposed too, Hannibal?”  
Peck avoided the comforting hands, pacing across the floor, kicking his discarded shirt out of his path. “Guess you got sidetracked by something else, maybe something more interesting. Or did you think it wouldn't matter that I was being used, after all, they weren't actually killing me, were they? Just torturing me with their lust - but nothing drastic.”   
He paused as though something had just struck him, turning to face Smith, eyes wide with remembered agony. “Or maybe you thought I'd asked for it? Is that it?”  
Hannibal shook his head vehemently. “No Tem, don’t even think that. It wasn't your fault.”  
“Maybe it was.” Face’s voice was unsteady as he voiced his deepest fears. “Maybe I encouraged them. You think so, Hannibal? Did I? Does it show?”  
“Does what show?” asked Smith, riding out the storm he'd summoned up.  
“You know...what you and I feel...used to feel,” he corrected himself hastily. “Does that kind of emotion show? Maybe I broadcast it - I must’ve done something to make them think I was easy meat. You think so, Hannibal? Do you, do you?”   
He reached out beseechingly towards Smith. “Oh that must be it. Men wouldn’t do that to anyone without a reason - would they?”  
Hannibal caught the hands in his own strong grasp. “Listen to me, Tem,” he said quietly but fiercely. “You did nothing to encourage them, do you hear me? Nothing! Scum like that don’t need a reason to hurt people. They’re just mean clear through to the soul, they like to hurt helpless men and women, makes them feel important.”  
Tem stared at him his eyes so wide, the blue-green irises were circled with white. “Did you know what they were like before you sent me into that house, Hannibal? Oh God, you sent me into that trap. It was you...you sent me in knowing what Maddox was like.”  
He struggled to withdraw his hands from Smith's tight grasp, but Hannibal held on. “No Tem, of course I didn't know. I wouldn't dream of sending anyone into a trap knowingly - you know that, you know me better than that.”  
“Do I?” whispered Tem. “I waited for you to come and get me out, I waited for such a long time. When Maddox was...was...slobbering over me, I kept thinking it'll be over soon, Hannibal will come.” His voice broke into a sob, but he fought it down. “But you didn't! You didn't! Then the others were there, on top of me, all over me...hurting...laughing, saying I wasn't much fun, but they’d teach me some new tricks for future use.”   
His voice rose to a shout. “But they knew, just as I knew, there would never be a future for me. They killed me just as surely as a bullet would've done.”  
He dragged himself free and turned blindly away. “So why don't you just leave Hannibal? It’s over, all over. I never want to see you again.” His voice was toneless now, without life or hope. “I can't stand your pity or your excuses. You've tried, I give you that, but you can’t help feeling the way you do. I must seem pretty disgusting to you.” He gave a brittle laugh, “You're so right. No amount of soap and water will wash me clean.”  
Hannibal let his breath go in a quiet sigh. Well, now he knew what was bothering Tem besides the physical assault. His lover felt betrayed and abandoned. He’d hidden it deep inside himself so as not to face what in his disturbed state he felt was the truth - his Colonel’s betrayal and rejection of him when he needed help the most.  
Hannibal felt a great relief as well as a great sadness, what torture Tem had been hiding these past few weeks. Like most rape victims he somehow thought he was to blame for the assault. Added to that, the delay in the Team’s rescue must’ve seemed like an eternity to him, held in that bedroom at the mercy of men without a shred of conscience or compassion in their make-up. The day and a half he’d been tied up and abused, must have seemed like eternity to the helpless young man. Now he had to make Tem believe that what had happened, made no difference to him, or Murdock, or B.A., their only concern was his welfare.  
He moved over to Tem grasping his upper arms, halting his agitated pacing. Peck tried to shrug him off, but Hannibal shook him, making his hair swirl in a shimmering gold nimbus.  
“Listen to me, Lieutenant, I have something to say to you, then if you still want me to go, I'll go quietly.” He led Tem to a chair, “Now sit down and listen to me, please.”  
Tem sat still, clasping his hands tightly in his lap, the knuckles showing white, “Okay, I'll listen,” he said listlessly.  
“First of all, I love you Templeton Peck. I always have, I always will, no matter what happens to you or to me, that will never change.”  
Peck glanced up, then lowered his gaze again. “How can I believe that, Hannibal? You can’t love me after what has happened.”  
“Can't I?” Smith’s grin was lopsided, charming, and despite his misery, Tem felt its impact on his heart.  
Hannibal crouched beside the chair. “Tem, I've loved you since I first set eyes on you, you know that. Now times and people change, but the fact that I love you will never change.” He paused to let that sink in, then continued, “Now we have to talk about this latest job.”  
Tem moved restlessly shaking his head, “No!”  
“Yes,” insisted Hannibal firmly. “I had no idea of what was in store for you or any of us. It started out as a fairly routine surveillance mission, the sort we’ve done hundreds of times, right?”  
Peck shrugged, his knuckles growing whiter. Smith could feel the tension in him - he had to break through that barrier Tem had erected between them again - breach it and let out the rest of the poison.  
“Maddox was a bit of a mystery, the information we had never even hinted at him being the sadistic monster he turned out to be. All we, and Ed knew, was that he was planning a big drug hand over, we didn’t know about the party-houses.”   
Hannibal paused, feeling Peck shudder at the memory of Maddox's threats of what was in store for him after his men had had their fun.  
Peck struggled out of his chair. “Hannibal, I don't want to hear any more, I know all this, it was just a job which turned ugly. It was no-one’s fault.” He laughed, and Smith winced at the bitterness evident in the sound. “That's your story, I know it by heart. I was still left in that rotten house in that stinking bed, with half a dozen men trying to rape me at the same time, all in the cause of getting the job done.” He threw out his hand, “Well, I'm sick of hearing about getting the job done, I don't want any part of it, ever again, so just leave me alone.”  
His voice rose to a near scream, as he pounded his fists against Smith’s chest as the bigger man, now on his feet also, caught hold of his arms. “Leave me alone. You sent me into that house and left me, it was you, Hannibal, always giving orders, making plans, on the Jazz. Well this time it didn't work out for any of us, now I just want to be left alone to try and get on with what's left of my life. Let go,” he struggled in earnest now, “Let me go. Damn you Hannibal, let me go!” His voice broke on the last word and he was gasping in agonized entreaty. “Why did you leave me Hannibal? I waited...and waited...”  
Hannibal held on as Tem finally let go the storm of emotion which had been building for far too long. Smith's heart aching as he heard the pain of betrayal in his beloved’s voice.  
“I’m sorry, Tem, I was coming for you, the opposition was just too strong.”  
Peck suddenly collapsed and Hannibal lifted the limp form into his arms and carried him to the couch. Laying him down, he placed a cushion under the fair head as Tem struggled to catch his breath, the harsh, dry sobs still choking him.  
Kneeling beside the sofa, Hannibal stroked his hair. “When we eventually fought our way into the house - you weren't there, it took ages for us to find the beach-house. I nearly went crazy knowing you were alone and unprotected.” He paused, swallowing hard, “We've always been able to protect you somehow, one of us should have been with you, I'll never, ever forgive myself for sending you in alone, Tem. Will you please try and forgive me? Please? I want to be near you, to help you, take care of you. If you can't handle that, I'll try and be patient. I won’t make any demands on you, I promise, but let me stay near you. I love you Tem, don’t send me away...” His voice cracked with the intensity of his feelings, and he paused to regain his composure, trying to reach through the barrier his beloved Tem had erected between himself and everyone who cared for him. His voice still trembled as he went on, “I didn’t know, I swear it. Damn that callous swine! Maddox, if I ever get my hands on your fat neck, I'll kill you.”  
Face heard the words through the pounding of his heart and opened his eyes in wonder. Hannibal was against that sort of violence, they’d all had enough killing in 'Nam. They avoided it even when their own lives were in danger. For the first time in weeks, Peck was actually listening to someone else’s pain; he’d been so caught up in his own misery he hadn't heard Hannibal's cry for help and forgiveness.  
Face suddenly knew that he wasn’t the only one who had been blaming Hannibal - although he hadn’t been aware he was until now. Hannibal had been blaming himself for weeks - the pain of it was in the blue eyes which were regarding him so tenderly.  
He raised a trembling hand and touched the dampness sliding down Hannibal's tanned cheek. “Hannibal, please don’t. Don't cry. I never meant to make you cry.” He wiped away the following tear, “I’m sorry Hannibal, don't cry.”  
Hannibal caught the hand and pressed his lips to the warm palm. He had been in control all afternoon - had been determined to end Tem’s suffering, and now the relief and agony of hearing Tem break down and acknowledge what had happened was so great, it had broken that iron control. His own bleeding, inner wounds had also been cauterized by the emotional outburst. He hadn’t realised the extent of his own misery, of how much he’d blamed himself for the assault on his beloved Lieutenant, until he felt the hard lump melt under his lover's gentle touch.  
“Can you forgive me, Tem? Forgive me for sending you into that trap?”  
Peck flushed, “I'm sorry I said that, Hannibal. It wasn't your fault, or mine.” He frowned, "It wasn’t, was it? It wasn’t my fault, or yours?”  
Hannibal shook his head. “What Maddox and his men did to you certainly wasn't your fault. Believe that Tem, it wasn't.” He paused. “But it was my fault that the operation didn't work out right. I should've... should've.” He stopped.   
When it came down to it, he didn't know what else he could have done. The usual precautions had been taken - it just had not worked out as planned, and unlike some of their other jobs where they'd managed by their own intelligence, quick wits and sheer good luck, to finish the job to everyone's satisfaction - their undoubted skills had been rendered useless by the unexpected brutality of the opposition.  
“What?” asked Peck, his tone quiet and somehow soothing. “You did everything you could. I know you did, Hannibal, in here.” He pressed a hand to his forehead, then added slowly, “it will just take me a little more time to believe it here,” he pressed a hand to his bare chest over his heart.  
A shadow crossed Hannibal's face and he turned his head away. So it still wasn't over, Tem hadn't forgiven him in his heart, where it mattered the most.  
He tried not to let the younger man see his distress, after all he'd been successful in what he'd attempted which had been to break Tem out of this downward spiral into destruction. He would have to settle for that.  
A warm palm turned his head around to meet green eyes, dark with pain as his own, and burning with unshed tears. “Will you forgive me Hannibal, for doubting you? I'm sorry, I must've been out of my mind, I know you would never do anything to hurt me, or any of us.”  
Hannibal nodded, the smile he kept just for his young Lieutenant brightening his pain-filled eyes. “Of course I forgive you, Face. I love you. Take all the time you need. I think you’ll be okay soon, then we can decide...” he broke off, not wanting to put Peck under any more pressure.  
“Decide?” Tem frowned, then yawned. “Sorry, I’m so tired. I can't take any more.”  
That was plainly evident. “We'll talk in the morning,” Smith said, bending to kiss his partner's brow, then drew back hurriedly.  
Tem yawned again and seeming not to notice Hannibal’s aborted movement, lifted his hand and pulled the silver head down, gently kissing his Colonel on the nose.  
He settled back onto the couch, murmuring, ”G’night Hannibal,” and worn out by the exhausting storm of emotion, was soon asleep.  
Sitting on the edge of the couch, gazing down at the sleeping man Hannibal hesitated, then gave in to the impulse to smooth the tousled fair hair with a gentle hand. Really should put him to bed, he thought, he’d rest easier there. However, he wanted to stay close to his lover, it may be his last chance if Tem still wanted him to leave. He wouldn't presume to sleep in the same bed without Tem’s permission, so deciding to compromise, Smith collected the quilt from Peck’s room and laid it gently over the sleeping form.  
Pulling two of the armchairs closer together, he took off his boots and loosening the belt of his jeans, settled himself in one chair, resting his feet on the other. Cursing slightly as he realised the light was still on, the Colonel got up to switch it off, then settled again into his armchair, leaving only the faint light of the rising moon to illuminate the room.  
Smith found pleasure in just being able to watch Tem sleeping, thankful in the knowledge that although he wasn't cured yet of all the traumas, they had made a start. Hannibal only hoped that he would still be able to help his lover in the days to come. Still thinking of how young and vulnerable Tem looked when he was sleeping, his heavy lids closed and he too slept.

How long he'd been asleep Hannibal didn't know, but he was awakened by soft murmurs. Opening his eyes, he gazed anxiously across at the couch.  
Peck had thrown off the quilt and was turning his head restlessly, indistinct words coming from parted lips.  
Hearing his own name Hannibal sat up, ready to wake the restless sleeper if necessary.  
“Hannibal,” sighed Tem, his hands moving up to lie above his head, “Need you Hannibal, where are you?”  
Smith came to sit on the edge of the couch beside the younger man, taking one outstretched hand between his own. “I’m here, Tem,” he said softly.  
A frown formed between the dark straight brows and Face turned away slightly. “Can’t get out that way...too far down...aah...no...no...”  
The dark-fringed eyes flew open and he struggled to sit up, flinching away from the grip on his arms as Smith helped him upright.  
“It's okay Tem, you’re safe with me. We’re at home,” soothed Hannibal, “it's just a nightmare... shh...take it easy.”  
Peck stared at him, the fear fading from his expression. “Oh Hannibal, it was awful. Was it just a bad dream?” He grasped at Smith's hands, glancing nervously around. “I was in a room, there...there were some men standing round me, closing the circle. I seemed to be looking down - separate - but still part of it.” He gulped and clutched the hands he was holding in a tighter grip. “The window was open, but I knew there was a sheer drop to a stone yard, and the men were between me and the door.”  
He shivered and Smith drew him closer, freeing one hand to stroke the rumpled blond hair.  
“Don’t be afraid Tem, I’m here now. Do you want to tell me?” He held his breath as the younger man shivered again.  
“Don’t know... maybe.”  
There was another pause as Hannibal continued to stroke the younger man's soft hair and hold his trembling body in a comforting but undemanding grasp.  
“The men, they were laughing, joking, ‘bout...about me.” Face frowned. “Then another man came in - he was furious. Said something about the game being up and that I, or rather the man in the circle - should cooperate - some sort of bargain.”  
Peck's uneven voice faltered as the scene replayed in his mind, he was remembering things he'd put away from his consciousness, things too awful for him to contemplate. He remembered how uneasy he’d felt after only a couple of hours in Maddox`s house. The covert glances he'd received from at least two of the hard-lipped men; their eyes sliding with glistening, lascivious approval over his body, lingering on his mouth and the area below his waist, never quite meeting his eyes except with an upward flick after they'd inspected his body. Recalled the small curl of fear that tightened his stomach and made the muscles of his thighs ache with the urge to run.”  
“Maddox! Maddox! It was him. Didn't suspect him at first, kept my eyes open for those other two bastards.” Face was gasping for breath as if he'd run a long distance and his whole body was rigid with tension; his eyes wide and staring at the opposite wall, shaking his head in denial. “No. No bargains, Maddox.” He touched his lip, head jerking back as if in recoil from a blow, “split my lip...ruined my shirt.”  
Smith grasped him tighter, rocking him gently, trying to erase the scene from his lover's mind - and from his own. He remembered all too clearly from that damned video, Maddox’s sneering remarks, as he'd bent over his Lieutenant's helpless form: "Well, well...still got a sassy tongue, huh kid? Got a better job for that quick tongue of yours...hold still...” His thick fingers had tangled in the glossy fair hair, holding Peck’s head still as he'd forced his engorged organ between his captive's unwilling lips, his free hand roaming in rough caresses over the nude body beneath him... and then later...  
Smith groaned at the memory, holding on to Peck as the slender body started to struggle, murmuring soothing words, his emotion choking him. “It’s okay, Tem, it's okay baby, he's gone, he's in jail...where with any luck, he’ll get a dose of his own medicine.”  
He had rarely felt so much hatred for another person - it was no idle threat he'd made in his anger: if Maddox and the other men had been within striking distance, Hannibal would have taken a cold and deadly revenge for the abuse his lover had suffered, and lived with the consequences later.  
Gradually, under his soothing touch and warm concerned words, the figure in his arms lost a little of its tension. Hannibal held on until the incoherent, heartbreaking words had eased a little, then drew back, pushing the unruly fringe out of Peck's eyes.  
He smiled slightly, unaware that his own eyes were damp, “Okay?” he asked anxiously.  
The enormous eyes, burning with unshed tears, moved slowly over his face, lingering on his eyes and on his mouth. Tentatively Tem touched Hannibal's mouth with one shaking finger. “Don't know...” he muttered, “how're you?”  
“I'll be fine as soon as you are,” replied his Colonel with a faint smile.  
Peck shivered, a shadow dimming the blueness of his eyes. “Maddox, Maddox...he...he raped me Hannibal...then...then the others.” The voice, small, weary and lost, tailed off.  
Yes, Smith realised, his partner was lost. Lost. Without a beacon to guide him through the maelstrom. Well, he was here to pilot his Lieutenant back to the safe harbour of his love and the life-giving care and affection of his Team mates. The very fact that Face had actually admitted what had happened gave Smith cause for fresh hope.  
“I know, Tem. I know what he did.” He hugged Peck and was relieved when Face, without hesitation, settled tiredly against him.  
Tem stole a look up at his Colonel. “Do you? Does this...” he cleared his throat. “Will that make it too difficult for us to be friends again, Hannibal?” He paused again. “I can’t promise that things will be exactly the same between us, don't think I can even bear to think about... about...”  
Hannibal put a hand under his chin and lifted the embarrassed eyes to meet his own. “I love you Templeton. The sex is great...but it isn't the only reason I'm in love with you.” His voice was calm and matter-of-fact, ignoring the scarlet blush that stained his partner's lean cheeks. “So you don't have to worry on that score. Just concentrate on getting well again, and then we'll see.”  
He kissed Tem's brow. “Even if you don't want a physical relationship - that's okay. Just let me take care of you...be near you. That's all I ask.”  
Peck stared at him, his eyes shining - the other man’s tender concern thawing a little of the ice that had settled around his heart. “That isn't fair on you, Hannibal...” he began.  
Hannibal placed a finger over his lips. “Shush now, ...let me be the judge of what’s fair: I told you, I love you. I think you're very desirable, and my heart does a flip every time you look at me with those big, green eyes.” He chuckled as Face gave him a poke in the ribs, “but even without sex, the love is still there, Tem. I thought I'd lost you for good, so go to sleep now, we can talk some more in the morning. You need your rest to help you get well.”  
“But,” began Face, and was halted by a determined finger over his lips.  
“I said, go to sleep Lieutenant, that's an order.” Smith reinforced his command by pulling off Peck’s shoes, which he'd forgotten to remove earlier, and lifted his feet onto the couch.  
Face managed a genuine grin at the ‘officer’ tone of voice that Hannibal used to tease him.  
“Okay, okay,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “Boy are you in a bossy mood.”  
As he obediently lay down again, the shadow returned to his eyes. “Hannibal, I won’t be able to forget Maddox and...and the others very easily,” he said in a low voice; the images behind his closed eyes would haunt him the rest of his days.  
He sat up again. “I don't think I want to go to sleep just yet, Hannibal,” he began anxiously, afraid to close his eyes.  
“You're exhausted Tem. I’ll be here, see, right here.” Smith gently pushed the younger man back onto the cushions and tucked the quilt around him. “I won't leave you Face, just tell those bad dreams to get lost, the Colonel’s on watch.”  
Despite his anxiety, Tem smiled and clasping Hannibal’s hand, closed his eyes wearily. After a few moments, he opened one to see Hannibal smiling down at him. “I'm still here. Go to sleep,” the Colonel murmured and Peck felt the merest touch of warm lips on his forehead.  
Calmed and feeling safe and secure in what seemed like eons, he relaxed and was soon fast asleep.

In the early hours of the morning, Face awoke feeling a trifle disorientated, he didn't seem to be in bed, yet the moon was shining brightly through the window. He was lying on the wide couch on his left side and for a second wondered why he was there. Feeling a pressure holding his right hand, he glanced down, and was startled to see the shine of silver hair on the edge of the couch.   
Hannibal? Yes, it was his Colonel sitting on the floor, head resting on the couch by Face’s elbow holding his hand in a loose grip. He was fast asleep and Face felt a tightening in his chest as he saw quite clearly just how tired and drawn Hannibal looked.  
Dark circles shadowed the skin under the black crescent of Smith’s long lashes, and the lines of strain and anxiety were etched deeply at the corners of the wide, sensual mouth, which had given Face so much pleasure in the past.  
Face was aware of a warm feeling of comfort and lay for a while wondering what was different, then he realised that the vacuum where his heart had been was filled with love and concern for someone else. The hard knot which had been slowly crushing him into oblivion was melting, he could feel again. Feel love - especially for the man half-lying beside him in vulnerable and revealing slumber. Smith's silver head rested at an uncomfortable angle beside Tem's shoulder, one hand clasped loosely but securely around his.  
How worried and upset his Colonel must’ve been these past weeks, thought Face as he lay looking at the curled up figure of his commander. Hannibal looked as if he'd just fallen into an exhausted doze after their talk some hours earlier.  
All Face could think of at the moment however, was how safe he felt, the warm strong fingers clasping his so tenderly, the older man's deep, even breathing soothing to his ears.  
Even through all the traumas of the last weeks, Face remembered how unthreatening Smith’s presence had always felt to him. Even when the memories of the outrage perpetrated upon him were overwhelming, Hannibal had been like a rock, steadfast and calm, fielding all his petulant rages and jealousies; patiently getting him to eat and take an interest in other topics - ready to talk or sit in silence; then at last goading him into releasing most of his pent-up anger and bitterness.  
The strength of feeling which swept over Face overwhelmed the last remnants of resistance, and his eyes filled with compassionate tears - for someone else; the healing tears he had not been able to shed for himself, trickled slowly down his cheeks as he whispered: “Hannibal, I’m sorry,” he eased himself up onto one elbow, his hand still clasped by Smith’s. “Hannibal, I'm sorry I hurt you,” he murmured softly.  
Shifting slightly so he could use his free hand, he stroked the short silver hair gently, nervously, his heart bursting with tenderness and love for this strong-willed man who had dragged him back from the brink of disaster.  
Hannibal woke quietly, cramped and stiff, still drugged with the exhaustion which had drained his reserves of strength. His first waking awareness was of a voice whispering his name and the touch of trembling fingers in his hair.   
Lifting his head, he was amazed to see his Lieutenant’s face close to his own, the bright sparkle of tears brimming over the sooty fringe of lashes and sliding down his lean cheeks.   
Blinking hard, Hannibal tried to understand what was happening. Uncertainly he lay still, his fingers automatically closing tighter on the younger man’s hand. “Tem? You all right?”  
Face nodded, unable to speak past the emotion clogging his throat, his hand still moving in Hannibal's hair, trying to make his feelings evident through his actions; afraid of breaking the tender moment with words, which lately had so hurt his beloved Colonel.  
“Want anything?” Hannibal asked, still fogged with exhaustion.  
Tem shook his head, still smiling.  
Hannibal eased himself onto the edge of the couch, “You sure?”  
Tem nodded.  
Hannibal was puzzled. “Had a bad dream?” he asked gently.  
Tem shook his head and cleared his throat. “No Hannibal, had a good dream. I dreamed that someone loved and cared for me. Didn’t matter to him what had happened - wasn’t disgusted or wanted to clear out.”  
Hannibal raised the hand he was holding to his cheek. “Yes?” he encouraged, his heart soaring with joy.  
Tem shrugged gracefully. “Decided to stop being a pain in the ass, and start living again.” He grinned a little, then added carefully. “Just want to ask you one thing though.”   
He paused again and lowered his lashes, before asking nervously: “Are you sure you want to stay with me? I don't want you to stay out of pity or remorse. There are no strings attached, Hannibal,” he added hurriedly. “I will get better eventually, but I have to tell you, things may never be the same, physically I mean. You sure you don’t just want to forget about us?” He paused. “Find someone who can give you...” he swallowed painfully, “...sexual satisfaction?”  
Face found it difficult to even say the words. Sex - even the mere word, still meant pain and humiliation to him at present. “I...I would understand.”  
Hannibal leaned closer, putting his free hand under Face’s chin, lifting the downcast eyes to meet his. “Now listen up, Templeton Peck, we’ll have no more of that talk. I’m staying because I want to stay and because you want me to stay. If you ever want me to go, just tell me. I won't like it, because I'm in love with you - but I'll go. I'll never force you to do anything you don't want to do.”  
Tem reached out and put an arm around his Colonel's neck. “I know that, Hannibal, I know,” he said huskily.  
Hannibal sighed, relieved beyond measure. “One more thing, Lieutenant, I - none of us are going to forget about you. We can never, ever, forget about you. You’re a part of us, we are a part of you. You’re hurting badly at present, we all know that, but this will pass Tem, no matter how long it takes. You will get well again, and want to start living life to the full.”  
He shook the chin slightly, emphasizing his words. “Don't let them win, Tem, don’t let those slime-balls masquerading as human beings, beat you down. You didn’t do anything wrong. Remember that and let us help you.”  
Tem nodded slowly, the relief showing clearly in his eyes. “Okay, just wanted to make absolutely sure.”  
They sat back on the couch, side by side in comfortable silence for a while, Tem feeling warm and protected, clasped lovingly in Hannibal’s arms, his head resting on one broad shoulder, his own arms around his partner’s waist.   
They rested like this until Face felt Hannibal yawn, then shiver in the pre-dawn chill.  
“Hey, Colonel, you cold?”  
“A bit,” admitted Smith, becoming aware of all his aches and pains from sitting in such a cramped position for hours.  
“Well, you’d better go to bed,” said Tem practically. “Bet you could use some sleep, too.”  
“Sleep? Who needs sleep, when he’s with the person he loves most?” Hannibal teased gently.  
“Well, you - we, have a busy day tomorrow, Colonel. Have to start earning my keep, don't I?” smiled Face.  
“No, not tomorrow, Tem,” said Hannibal seriously. “You need a few more days rest, I can take a couple of days off, spend some time just relaxing, eh?” He probed carefully. “Maybe get Murdock and B.A., have a little vacation. Where would you like to go?”  
Tem put his head on one side and studied the anxious blue eyes. “I don't mind, Hannibal.” Mentally crossing his fingers that he was right, he added, “as long as I’m with you, and my friends, I can cope.”  
Hannibal smiled. “Good! Murdock will be thrilled, he’s aching to try out his new game.”  
“Oh Boy!” Face closed his eyes theatrically. “Still, if he can put up with me, guess I can put up with a few of his crazy antics.”  
The tone was indulgent and affectionate and Hannibal relaxed even further at this further evidence of the change in his Lieutenant’s mood.  
“Okay then. I’ll ring them in the morning.” He started to get to his feet, stumbling as his cramped muscles protested. “Think I'll take your advice Tem, and get some sleep,” he said, trying to stifle a yawn.  
“Okay, Colonel.” Tem’s warm hand on his arm steadied the older man.  
Face pulled himself to his feet and fussed with the quilt, “Think I’ll come too.”  
Hannibal stared at him, noticing the tremor in the hands folding the quilt that his lover couldn't hide. His heart ached at the confusion Tem must be feeling, grateful - but scared. He understood and keeping it casual, nodded, “Okay, kid.”  
They moved towards the bedrooms and Hannibal stopped on the threshold of the spare room he'd been using: “Shout if you need anything. Okay?”  
He bent slightly and took Peck's head between his hands, his fingers threading through the soft fair hair as he kissed him briefly, but tenderly, on the forehead and each eyelid. “Sleep tight, Angel-face, see you in the morning.”  
Tem stared at him, bewildered gratitude and relief clearly visible in his expressive eyes and on his handsome features. “You really, don’t mind?” He halted and flushed a painful scarlet.  
In the act of opening his door, Smith paused, and taking Tem by the upper arms shook him gently. “Remember what I said earlier? I do want you, but I love you even more. So don’t worry, there's plenty of time, I can wait until you are absolutely certain of what you want. You’ve been through a good deal - and not just tonight - you need plenty of rest.” He paused and ruffled Tem’s hair. “Okay? I’ll be right here if you need me.”  
Face smiled shakily, he was still a long way yet from being able to participate in sex, even with the man he loved; and he'd never been more certain that he loved Hannibal than at this moment.  
“Thanks Hannibal, I’ll yell if I need you - and Hannibal?” The older man turned with one eyebrow raised. “I know now - I’ll always need you.”  
Hannibal grinned, his heart too full for words. He winked and opened Tem’s bedroom door, ushering him inside. He was rewarded by a shy kiss on the cheek and a firm grasp of the hand, before turning to enter his own room.  
Tired and exhausted as he was, Hannibal was content - the future which had looked so bleak yesterday, was suddenly rosy with hope. They would make it, he was certain of that.  
As Tem slid between the cool sheets, he felt the warm flicker of returning hope flare into a small flame - he was going to make it out of this well of torment and despair.  
Helped by the love and tender care of his loving Colonel - and friends - he would put these last few weeks firmly behind him and face the future with the resilience that had always been deeply engrained in his character - he, they all, would survive and prosper - together.

Hannibal lay awake for a long time after he had closed his door. Remembering the tremulous way Peck had just offered to let Hannibal share his room - and bed - made his heart ache with bittersweet joy. There was no way he could - or would - take advantage of his younger lover’s gratitude in this traumatic time, but it was a good omen for the future. A promise that things would be better for them both, given a little time, patience and lots of love and care. Well, that wouldn't be too heavy a chore. He didn't mind at all taking care of Tem - he loved him, had always loved him; he was just so thankful that events had turned out this way. For a while there tonight, before and after the row, he thought he’d lost Tem for good, but now - now he was sure, his heart at peace, they would be okay, and would be okay together.  
Turning over onto his side, his eyes fell on the bureau drawer, the one he had kept locked ever since their arrival at the apartment. He sat up slowly. There was one thing left to do. Destroy that damned video tape. With that gone, there would be nothing left to tie them to the past, no chance of Tem ever finding it. He shuddered to think what his lover would think - or do - if he saw himself being violated on film.  
Smith could not guarantee that Peck would never hear of the tape, they could run into some of Maddox's friends at some future time, but he would make damn sure that he never saw it. Thanks to Ed Maloney, he was sure that there was only one tape, and he intended to destroy it.  
There was no way it could ever be used as evidence anyway. Peck was a fugitive so couldn't testify without risking capture. Even if it could have been used, Smith had no compunction in destroying something that could cause his lover and his friends so much distress.  
He glanced at the window, it was almost daylight, the sky lightening with the first tendrils of dawn. He and Tem had talked long into the morning, so telling himself that there was no time like the present, Smith got up.  
Pulling a robe on over his shorts, he went to the bureau, unlocked the drawer and took out the plain, innocent-looking case. Turning it over in his hands he decided he knew the right place to dispose of this piece of garbage.  
Picking up a box of matches and a cigar from the bedside table, he went quietly out into the lounge. Pausing by Tem’s door, he listened but there was no sound.  
Unlocking the large window which lead to the balcony, he slid it aside and climbed out, carefully closing the glass behind him. Mounting the short flight of steps which lead to the small paved area, euphemistically referred to as the roof garden, he moved to the ornamental stone basin which usually held flowers. It was empty at the moment as Murdock had persuaded Face that he should really have a birdbath up here, but after removing the flowers to a window box on the balcony, the two younger men hadn’t had time to do anything about the bathing pool for our feathered friends as the pilot had so colorfully called it.  
Hannibal felt a smile tug at his lips as he remembered the conversations Murdock and Face had had over this piece of stone. Happier times which seemed a long time ago, but with luck would soon return.  
He broke the cassette by smashing it against the rim of the basin and pulling out handfuls of the shiny black plastic, allowed it to curl on the stone bottom.  
Lighting his cigar with a match, he dropped the burning stalk into the middle of the snake-like tangles and watched them start to shrivel. Another match followed the first, then Hannibal pulled the cardboard case to pieces and fed the tiny blaze.  
As the clean fire consumed the tape and smoke rose into the dawn air, Hannibal took a deep, shuddering, cleansing breath. He felt a weight lift from his shoulders - he was free. Tem was free. Nothing and no-one could ever come between them again. They had come through the fire - burned a little - but also tempered like a good piece of metal, stronger then ever in their love and devotion to each other and the loyalty and love of their friends.  
As the fire dwindled leaving only a small pile of black ash in the bottom of the stone basin, Hannibal stubbed out his cigar in the middle of it, feeling the fine dust sift through his fingers. He would clean this out later, when there was a wind to blow away the debris.  
He turned to go back down the steps and stopped in his tracks, a slim figure was standing at the top watching him.  
Peck was clad in his old blue robe, feet and legs bare, his hair, rumpled by sleep, hanging over his brow, making him look very young and extremely attractive.  
Smith’s heart seemed to freeze for an instant, then slowly he relaxed. The sea-green eyes were clear and bright, no shadow marring their beautiful depths. Peck's face was calm and the slight frown between his dark brows, slowly cleared as Smith took a step towards him.  
“What's the matter, Tem? Can't you sleep?”  
The fair head nodded, then shook from side to side. “Yes and no. Heard a noise, wondered what it was.”  
Smith took another step closer and held out his hand. “Thought it might be a burglar, huh?” he asked with a smile.  
Trustingly, Tem grasped his hand. “Y’know, I never thought of that.” He nodded towards the faint smudge of smoke. “What you doing, trying to burn the place down?”  
Smith shook his head and said simply, “Nope. Just getting rid of some trash.”  
Peck nodded. “I see.” His voice was quiet, but a shiver ran through his slender frame.  
Instinctively Smith put an arm around his shoulders and held him close. To his joy, Tem didn’t move away, but huddled closer into his warmth.  
Smith felt in that instant that Tem knew what he had done. Maybe his Lieutenant didn’t know exactly what had been destroyed, but he knew it had something to do with Maddox and recent past events. He should have realised, Smith thought ruefully; Tem was far from being stupid, he would have worked things out for himself, but thank all the powers of light that he hadn’t seen that video.  
“Come on, let’s get you back inside, it's cold out here,” Smith said, moving towards the steps.  
“I’m okay,” replied Face, but still obediently going along.  
“Sure,” soothed Hannibal, arm dropping downwards to tighten around his partner’s narrow waist.  
The fair head turned, eyes looking solemnly up at his taller companion. “I really am okay, Hannibal.”  
Smith stopped and put his other arm around Peck’s waist, easing them both round till they stood facing each other. “You sure, kid?”  
Peck gazed at him a moment longer, then his arms lifted and twined around Smith's neck.   
“I’m very, very sure,” he said, and with a smile that rivaled the sun now rising over the stone canyons of Los Angeles, kissed his lover on the mouth.  
A kiss filled with a variety of emotions, gratitude, tenderness, pleasure and love.  
As the sun crept higher, outlining the two figures locked in each others arms in a nimbus of rose and gold, it heralded a day full of promise, as the warm kisses between the two lovers promised a brighter future for them both.   
A future filled with mutual trust regained and desire rekindled. The tenderness and understanding which had been the bedrock of their relationship, first as friends, then as lovers would also last - and most enduring of all, the purity of a love which had proved to be unconquerable through everything that man and fate had thrown in their path.

Copywright T. Roubles  
Last Edited December 2001

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my very first slash stories. Although I don't have any personal knowledge of the aftermath of any vicious assault, [thank goodness], I got this idea from an article I read in a magazine. In it, the journalist wrote about the way that after a serious assault on a woman or man, it was the victim's spouse/partner who also suffered and the way they would have to face their own demons. The solution in this story is one of them.
> 
> This story was first published in a PPPress zine, now out of print and with the permission of the author.


End file.
